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As the horse rose for the final leap, Jean felt the same; 
ecstatic thrill as when, he climbed through, the fire. 

{Jean Carroll.,) — P- 5/^ 


/ 


JEAN CARROLL 

A TALE OF THE OZARK HILLS 



JOHN HOMER CASE 



BROADWAY PUBLISHING CO. 

NEW YORK 
1911 



Copyright, 1911, 

BY 

BROADWAY PUBLISHING CO. 



©CI.A2977&S 


DEDICATION 


TO ALL THOSE WHO HAVE THE RED 
BLOOD OF LIFE IN THEIR VEINS; WHO 
LOVE THE WOODS, THE MURMUR OF 
THE PINES AND THE LAUGHTER OF RUN- 
NING WATER ; WHO LOVE A GOOD FIGHT, 
A FAIR FIELD AND NO FAVORS, THIS 
VOLUME IS DEDICATED. 


J. H. C. 






















CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I Jean is Introduced 17 

II Jean's School Days 29 

III Planning Jean’s Welcome .... 37 

IV Selecting a Horse 49 

V A Tramp in the Woods .... 61 

VI The Barn-Raising 71 

VII The Warnings 81 

VIII The Celebration 89 

IX The Bald-Knobbers at Work . . . 101 

X Confidences m 

XI The Picnic 121 

XII The Panther Plunt 135 

XIII Granny Moon’s Cove 15 1 

XIV Mollie is Engaged 165 

XV The Big Snow 173 

XVI The Christmas Tree 183 

XVII Jaques Murray’s Death .... 195 

XVIII The Stranger 203 

XIX A Discovery 213 

XX At the Ford ........ 229 

XXI Dividing the Spoils 239 

XXII A Plea for Justice 249 

XXIII The Long Race 261 

XXIV The Fight ......... 271 


5 


Content0 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XXV The Escape 279 

XXVI The Vision 287 

XXVII The Capture 295 

XXVIII The Hurried Call 303 

XXIX In Dead Man’s Cave 313 

XXX The Attack 329 

XXXI The Rescue 337 

XXXII The Ghost 347 

XXXIII The Long Trail 357 

XXXIV The Return 369 

XXXV The Stranger’s Name 377 

XXXVI In the Pines 385 


V 


6 


A FOREWORD 


Along the southern border of Missouri is a series 
of broken hills, marked on the maps of the State as 
the “Ozark Mountains.” Near the middle of this 
border these hills, or mountains, cover nearly three 
tiers of counties, becoming more narrow toward the 
east or the west. On the northern edge of this 
broken country, bending in a great bow from the 
sunken swamp-lands of the southeast, around north 
to the level prairies of the southwest part of the 
State, is a dividing ridge, or crest, of the Ozarks. 
The counties included within this bow are called the 
“Hill Counties of Missouri” — a country as different 
in general make-up from the other parts of the 
State as if it belonged to another continent. 

In early days a traveler from the north, visiting 
Southern Missouri, would strike this “crest” near 
Sand Springs, called Fort Sand Springs since the 
war. Behind him lay the rich, level prairies of the 
State, dotted with fine farms and thriving villages. 
To the south lay an hundred miles of the wild and 
rugged country of the Ozarks — an almost unbroken 
forest, traversed by numerous streams of sparkling 
spring water, flowing through narrow but very fer- 
tile valleys, these little valleys overshadowed by for- 
est-covered hill lands. These streams find their way 

[7] 


jForeto or D 

through vale and canon from north to south, and 
eventually help to swell the current of the limpid 
waters of White River. 

The “Hill Country” not many years ago was an 
unknown wilderness; not mountains, but broad ta- 
blelands, broken by winding valleys and grassy hill- 
sides, all covered with magnificent forests of pine 
and oak. Yet, scattered over these forest lands, 
giving them a mountainous appearance from a dis- 
tance, was occasionally seen a tall peak, or “knob,” 
standing alone and apart. These “knobs” arose in 
massive grandeur hundreds of feet higher than the 
surrounding country, the lower portion covered 
with giant forest trees, the tops bald and rugged. 
When viewed from a distance, the cragged crests, 
glistening in the sunlight, gave to the scene an air 
of sublimity. 

. These “knobs” could be seen for miles around, 
and served as landmarks and guide-posts to the 
forest travelers. From the naked appearance of 
their crests, they were called “bald knobs.” Set- 
tlers from the smoother counties of the State were 
wont to speak in a slighting manner of the dwellers 
among these hills as “Bald-knobbers,” a name 
which, from the acts of a secret organization, be- 
came a term of reproach to these honest citizens. 

The first settlers of this hill country came from 
the mountains of Kentucky and Tennessee early in 
the nineteenth century. They were hunters by pro- 
fession and descendants of a long line of pioneer 
hunters. They had been crowded farther and far- 
ther from their hunting grounds in their parent 
[ 8 ] 


jf o re to o r 0 

States, until they could stand the loss no longer, 
but sought better fields in the unsettled lands of the 
Ozarks. Here, among the beautiful hills, with 
game of all kinds in abundance, they established 
their homes. 

These settlers came of a hardy, independent race, 
were used to the hardships of pioneer life, and in 
a few years had established many thrifty homes. 
These homes were generally located near one of 
the numerous springs of the country. Here, with 
an abundance of timber and water at hand, the set- 
tler erected a substantial, if rough, dwelling, cleared 
up a small field for corn and cotton, and lived a life 
of pleasure and adventure, for which his habits and 
training had well fitted him. His possessions were 
his “claim,” a few cows and hogs, perhaps one 
horse, and last, but not least, his gun and dog. 

Few of these settlers were educated, as the world 
knows the term, but they knew the forest and the 
animals within it. They knew when the buck shed 
his horns and the bear sought his den. They were 
versed in signs and traditions, and knew all the lan- 
guage of the woods and, withal, they were honest, 
nature-loving, God-fearing people. Yet, here, as 
in more favored communities, there were leaders — 
usually men who had seen more of the world ; men 
educated and refined. These men became leaders 
of neighborhoods, townships or counties, according 
to their different abilities, and led their followers 
to the right or Svrong, according to their different 
natures, and where these leaders went their friends 
followed, faithfully, trustingly and unswervingly. 

[ 9 ] 


jForetootO 

For many years after the first pioneers came to 
the Ozark country, settlers came very slowly. Those 
desiring farms, sought the smooth prairies of the 
north, instead of the rough hill-lands, and only the 
hardiest wandered into the timbered sections. Such 
conditions continued until during the fifties, when 
the many advantages of the country became better 
known. Hunters then came because of the abun- 
dance of game; stockmen came because of the fine 
ranges; farmers came because of the fertile valleys; 
and lovers of nature came because of the beautiful 
scenery and magnificent forests. Still, as late as the 
beginning of the Civil War, the country was almost 
as nature had left it, except along the main streams. 

When war was declared between the North and 
the South the settlers were in an unorganized condi- 
tion. There were few churches or schools to bind 
the people together. They knew no politics or 
party, and each one was left to follow his own will 
as to which way he should go. The new settler 
usually followed the action of his native State ; and 
as they had come from both the North and the 
South, they divided one against the other, the older 
inhabitants falling into line with one of the sides 
as the struggle progressed. 

Leaders arose upon either side, gathered their fol- 
lowers into a band, and tried to control the land. 
Law ceased to exist and might made right. Both 
sides claimed control of the country, but neither 
controlled. Undying feuds between friends and be- 
tween neighborhoods were started — feuds which 
left a trail of blood across the country’s fair name ; 
[io] 


jFotetootD 

feuds which could only end in the annihilation of 
one of the clans. 

Those who were not in the midst of this turmoil 
often wonder at the continuation of these feuds and 
factions along the border lines. If they will con- 
sider the situation, they will soon understand. Here, 
as elsewhere where feuds long continue, fell the di- 
viding lines between the North and the South. Here, 
between these high-spirited men of the woods, were 
fought some of the hottest battles of the nation. 
Battles fought, not only between army and army, 
but between man and man, neighbor and neighbor, 
and often between brother and brother. 

To those of the far North or far South, battles 
were fought on fields remote. When peace was de- 
clared, the soldier returned to his distant home and 
took up his peaceful avocation amid his late com- 
rades. He thought of the enemy, not as individuals, 
but as a body. Not so with warriors among the 
Ozarks. Here the issue was settled man against 
man, around their own homes. Here civil war ex- 
isted in its most horrid form. Devastation and 
ruin followed in its footsteps and left a sorrowing, 
angry people behind. 

While the war was in progress no one was sure 
of his life. The smith at his forge and the farmer 
at his plow must be ready for battle at a moment’s 
notice. Men’s lives were taken with impunity, and 
in the extreme heat of passion women were not al- 
ways spared. Many motherless homes resulted 
from the bloody conflict. 

But most of these inhuman deeds were the work 

[ii] 


jFotetoorO 

of lawless characters, who only wanted such a con- 
dition to exist to give excuse to plunder, rob and 
kill. Yet, so violent was the hatred between the 
contending forces that the better citizens condoned, 
even if they did not approve, the murderous acts 
committed in their favor. They looked upon them 
as necessary evils. 

Such a condition between nearest neighbors and 
past friends could but leave scars that would be 
slow to heal, and nowhere, except in the hearts of 
liberty-loving Americans, would the breach have 
closed so long as time lasted. Still, so great is the 
respect of our people for the rights of others, that 
as soon as the grief for the lost and murdered re- 
lations had become dulled by time, the more reason- 
able realized that each side, the Blue and the Gray, 
believed themselves right, that both alike were to 
blame, and that both should forgive and forget. 

The Ozark country was the dividing line between 
the contending forces west of the Mississippi. 
Here, within sight of the “bald knobs” in the pine 
forests, were fought some of the fiercest conflicts 
of the great struggle. So terrible was this strug- 
gle that for years after Lee’s surrender and peace 
was declared, the land was in a chaotic state, and 
clashes between Northern and Southern sympathi- 
zers were almost daily occurrences. To avoid these 
conflicts each side had their day, or week, in which 
to go to town, and woe to the man who braved the 
dangers and trespassed upon the time of his enemy. 
A good “threshing” was most sure to be the result. 

These conditions continued until the younger 

[ 12 ] 


jforetaorD 

generation of boys, with less cause for quarrels and 
less heat in their blood, had grown to manhood. 
With these changed conditions, reason began to 
predominate; the conservative old men and some of 
the younger men saw that old feuds were kept alive 
to enable unprincipled rogues to commit unlawful 
acts. They found that those men were fighting for 
spoil instead of principle. 

A movement for better order was started. The 
growth of the cause was slow. Fifteen years had 
passed since the war before the “Law and Order” 
citizens were numerous enough to have controlled 
the elections. Many more years passed before those 
who favored “Law and Order” could join together, 
lay old prejudices aside and elect a “Law and Or- 
der” official. The contests came on the election of 
sheriff, and for many years the man with the sug- 
gestive row of notches on his gun stock was sure of 
election. At last, when a “Law and Order” candi- 
date was elected, he was drawn into a quarrel, shot 
dead by a “mankiller,” and a “tough” took his place, 
and lawlessness again reigned supreme. These con- 
ditions had reached such a state early in the eighties, 
that law was almost unknown, and life was sacri- 
ficed recklessly. Good citizens were in constant ter- 
ror, when at last some of the best men organized a 
secret society for mutual protection. Only citizens 
known to favor law enforcement were admitted to 
the clan. The organization was non-political and 
non-sectarian. It had no written rules or laws, but 
each member, upon admittance, took an oath to deal 
justly by all men, to assist in law enforcement and 

[13] 


jForetoorn 

not to divulge the names of members or the acts 
of the body. 

The membership increased rapidly; all fled to the 
society for protection. It did the works in secret 
that officials are expected to do in public. It be- 
came a dread to evil-doers. It knew no party, no 
creed; no North, no South. It punished the guilty 
and protected the weak. In a few years this secret 
body had done for this fair land what officials had 
failed to do in a decade, and life and property was 
again secure. 

This society had no settled place of meeting, but 
selected spots in the roughest parts of the virgin 
forest to decide on their acts and plans. At its 
meetings all members wore masks and spoke in dis- 
guised tones. All questions were settled by a vote 
of those present. 

For many years this masked, mysterious body, 
without place or name, ruled the “Hill Country” of 
Missouri. The evil-doers knew the strength and 
dreaded the vengeance of the “Bald-knobbers.” 


[14] 


JEAN IS INTRODUCED 




JEAN CARROLL 


CHAPTER I 

JEAN IS INTRODUCED 

A BOUT sundown, one day in May, in the early 
Seventies, the Government stage coach, 
drawn by six steaming horses, came rolling 
down the long, sandy hill toward old Fort Sand 
Springs. The great coach lurched wildly here and 
there whenever, by chance, the driver allowed one 
of the heavy wheels to strike a protruding stone. 
The road was a wide, much-traveled trail, washed 
deep into the earth here and there, and strewn along 
the sides with old twisted and warped pieces of iron, 
broken wagons and scraps of harness, relics of some 
hasty retreat along this difficult route by one of the 
contesting armies during the late war. 

On either side of the road, stretching as far as 
the eye could see, extended an oaken forest; green 
and beautiful close at hand; dark, gloomy and 
threatening under the dying sunlight in the distant 
valleys. 

[17] 


3f e a it Cattail 

The lengthening shadows were hiding the distant 
view when the stage entered a small clearing at the 
foot of the long hill, and with a swerve to the left, 
a loud “whoa” and grinding of brakes, the coach 
came to a standstill in front of a long, rambling, 
one-story building — all that was left of old Fort 
Sand Springs. 

Tom, the driver, sprang from the seat, threw the 
heavy lines to the stable boy, the mail to Manse 
Kissee, storekeeper, postmaster and innkeeper, then 
turned his attention to the interior of the coach. 
Only one passenger alighted, a boy apparently about 
five years old, small for his years, with large blue 
eyes, black curly hair hanging to his shoulders, and 
a prominent nose that gave every indication that 
later it would be decidedly Roman. He timidly fol- 
lowed Tom toward the store where Kissee was 
sorting the mail and delivering it to a number of 
rugged farmers, who were standing around “swap- 
ping yarns” and spitting tobacco juice at the cracks 
in the oaken floor. 

“Here, Manse, I’ve brought you a boarder.” 

“What! You have? Til never stir/ Yessir. 
Where is he, Tom?” 

“Here he is,” and Tom gently lifted the boy onto 
the high step. 

“Who? That shaver thar? Well, Til never 
stir/ ” 

A change came over the childish features at the 
gruff voice of the old postmaster, an unnamable 
change. The face lost its childish look. The eyes 
seemed no longer blue. In a low voice he answered, 

[18] 


3featt Carton 

“I won’t go in, if you don’t want me. It’s warm 
out here.” 

“Well, well! ‘I’ll never stir.’ The little beggar’s 
plucky, ain’t he, Tom? Come on, sonny, you’re all 
right. Come right on in and mother’ll get you some 
warm milk and bread. Here, Tom, take him in 
with you to get your supper. He’s got the grit all 
right.” 

Manse Kissee turned to his work arranging the 
mail while Tom and his charge passed into the old- 
fashioned kitchen and dining room, where Mother 
Kissee was serving the supper. The loungers about 
the store watched the old postmaster as the different 
pieces of mail were examined and freely discussed 
the probable contents of the few letters. When sup- 
per was finished and Tom and the boy again ap- 
peared, the old man asked : “Who is the youngster, 
Tom, and where’s he goin’?” 

“His name’s Jean Carroll, and he’s going to old 
Jaques Murray’s down on Swan Creek. He’s the 
old schoolmaster’s grandson. He come up to St. 
Louis from Orleans with Joe Blander on the Sary 
Jane. His dad an’ mother both died in Orleans of 
the swamp fever. He’s goin’ to live with his 
granddad. I’ll tell you what, boys, he’s a plucky 
chap. Hasn’t whimpered a note in the whole two 
hundred-mile trip, an’ the road’s rough as sin, too. 
Joe says his dad was a mighty fine man, and a 
Northern man, too, but I guess old Jaques will 
make a Democrat out o’ the boy. I know he’ll try 
to, ’cause he’s a Orleans Democrat, dyed-in-the- 
wool.” 


[19] 


3[ean Carroll 

“Well, ‘HI never stir.’ Don’t you worry about 
Jaques makin’ a Democrat out o’ that chap. If he 
makes the man he’s cut out for, he’ll ’tend to his 
own makin’. ‘Shoot me’ if the little beggar wasn’t 
goin’ to stay out if I hadn’t talked soft to him. 
Yes, sir, that chap’ll be all right if he makes as good 
a man as his old granddad. Old Jaques is all right 
if he is a Democrat. He’s kept his hands to hisself 
clear through, an’ that’s more’n lots of both sides 
have done. Yes, sir! ‘I’ll never stir!’ There’s your 
team, Tom.” 

“All right, here I go. I’ll leave him in your care, 
Manse. Murray will be here after him to-night or 
to-morrow. He knows the boy’s coming.” 

Turning to the boy Tom said: “Good-by, Jean. 
Be a good boy and a brave man, and don’t never 
shy at a rough road. It takes a rough sea to make 
a good sailor, and a rough road to make a good 
driver.” 

Tom’s words fell on good ground. Jean remem- 
bered them long afterward and treasured them, first 
in a literal, and afterward in their broader meaning 
— a figurative sense. 

The heavy stage lumbered away through the dusk 
to the southwest, on its last relay toward Spring- 
field, the end of its journey. As the fresh team 
circled into the main road, they were pushed into a 
sharp gallop by the keen crack of the long whip and 
loud command of the driver. 

With the leaving of the stage, the store loafers 
prepared for their departure. They gathered up 
their small purchases of sugar or coffee, or a small 
[ 20 ] 


3iean Carroll 

bundle of gaudy calico, shouldered their long cap- 
and-ball rifles, and in companies of twos or threes, 
left for their cabin homes. Swinging off with long, 
noiseless strides, they halted at the big spring to 
take a drink from the old gourd, then left the road 
by narrow, almost indistinguishable footpaths, some 
of which wound for miles through the forest to 
end at last in the small clearing on the settlers’ 
claim. 

Jean was petted and warmed by “Mother” Kissee, 
and then placed in a trundle-bed near the fire, and 
was soon fast asleep. 

Hours afterward Jaques Murray, a fine specimen 
of the old Southern gentleman, arrived. He and 
the old postmaster greeted each other warmly, and, 
when supper was over, seated themselves by the 
large open fireplace for a neighborly chat. Al- 
though they lived many miles apart, they considered 
themselves neighbors still. 

“Well, Manse, how is business here at the 
Springs?” 

“Very fair, Jaques; very fair. No cause to com- 
plain, but, ‘I’ll never stir/ if I ain’t gettin’ awful 
tired of all this wrangling between the different 
parties. I’m as good a Republican as any of them, 
but I say ‘equal suffrage to all/ The war’s over, 
and let’s let bygones be bygones. They had a regu- 
lar knockout in Marshfield yesterday. Bad blood 
and bad whisky.” 

“Well, that’s too bad. I wish they could all look 
at the war as we do, talk it over in a quiet way, and 
remain friends all the way through. Our boys 
[ 21 ] 


3[eatt Carroll 

ought to be careful what they say, and your boys 
ought to be satisfied, now that they’ve whipped us, 
without ‘rubbing it in.’ ” 

“That’s right, Jaques ; that’s right. I don’t blame 
your boys for fighting for equal rights. I might 
stand being whipped, but Til never stir’ if they 
could ‘rub it in.’ No, sir; ‘shoot me’ if they could 
‘rub it in.’ How are things down your way, 
Jaques?” 

“Pretty bad, Manse. Some don’t seem to know 
the war’s over, and everybody seems to be hunting 
for trouble. The practice of always carrying fire- 
arms makes things lots worse. Our country has a 
deep wound, which I fear will be slow to heal.” 

“So it will, Jaques; so it will. It will be awful 
slow till the old hotheads, like us, are out of the 
way. Maybe the younger boys, like your grandson, 
in there, will have more sense. He looks like he 
would, anyway. ‘I’ll never stir,’ if he ain’t a fine- 
looking chap.” 

“I’m glad to hear it, Manse. I haven’t seen him 
since he was very small.” 

“Is that so? Where’s he been all his life?” 

“He’s been with his parents in Orleans, where 
they both died. He’s the son of my only child, and 
is my only living descendant, so, you see, I can’t 
help but want him with me. His father was James 
Carroll, and belonged to a branch of the Virginia 
Carrolls. He came from the mountains of Tennes- 
see, where his grandfather, John Carroll, located 
just after the Revolution. That land was held by 
the Cherokees at that time, and John Carroll mar- 
[ 22 ] 


3fean Carroll 

ried the only daughter of old Chief Watumska. So, 
you see, my grandson has a strain of Indian blood 
in his veins. Still, I don’t know that that hurts 
him, for I have seen some Indians that far out- 
classed their white neighbors. The Indian’s ideas 
of friendship, truth and morality are far ahead of 
ours. Yes; he has Indian blood, and, in fact, the 
boy is pretty well mixed up all around. His father 
was English and Indian, and his mother Scotch and 
French.” 

“He’ll be a fine man if he’ll only take the good 
qualities of all his ancestors,” the old postmaster 
said. 

“Yes, Manse; but Nick will be to pay if the bad 
traits get the upperhand.” 

The conversation then drifted off to other mat- 
ters of general interest until a late hour, when 
Manse showed his guest to his room for the night. 

The next morning the old man and the boy bade 
the postmaster and “Mother” Kissee good-by, and 
drove away to the southward to their mountain 
home. The grandfather to read his books and to 
dream of the days of long ago; the boy to see the 
wonders of the forest, to learn the secrets of wood- 
craft, and to grow to manhood among all the free- 
dom and strength of the mountains. 

All through the bright spring day they traveled 
southward, past Patterson’s old water-mill on the 
James, then into deeper woods and across the spar- 
kling Finley at the Finley falls. Soon the forest be- 
gan to change, the oaks became more dwarfish and 
occasionally a pine reared its sturdy head above the 

[23] 


3(ean Catroll 

neighboring oaks. A few miles farther, and the 
travelers entered the great pine forest. They stopped 
at a babbling spring by the roadside to rest the tired 
horses and drink from its crystal depths. Around 
them on every side stood the magnificent pines, well 
apart near at hand, but growing nearer and nearer 
together in the distance, until the massive trunks 
seemed to form a solid wall around them, shutting 
them off from the rest of the world. Overhead the 
lofty branches formed a great, green canopy, ob- 
scuring the rays of the sun. Around them was a 
solemn stillness, while from above came the ever- 
whispering of the pines — a voice which tells to each 
the story he wishes most to hear. 

The grandfather removed his hat in silent adora- 
tion. The child, too awed to speak, clasped the 
hand of his companion and inclined his ear to the 
music of Nature above. 

Thus they stood, when from among the trees 
leaped a splendid young buck. With head high and 
branching antlers thrown far back, he approached 
the rivulet. Close behind him two does timidly 
followed. The horses jingled their harness, the 
buck stopped, gazed one instant at the intruders, 
then dashed madly away. At the sight of the deer 
the old man simply turned his head to watch them. 
Not so with the child. At the first sight of the 
game he dropped to the ground, and with the in- 
stinct of a hunter secreted himself behind the grass 
and ferns, and remained so until the animals were 
well out of sight, and it required much persuasion 

[24] 


3featt Carroll 

on the part of the old man to get the boy to again 
resume the journey, as he wished to await the com- 
ing of more game. 

A few miles farther and the road emerged from 
the forest on the brow of a short, steep ridge. The 
hills, rugged-sided and forest-capped, extended in 
a far-reaching curve on either hand, completely in- 
closing a wide prairie cove. Near the upper end of 
the valley stood a wooded, grassy knoll with a large 
sparkling spring bubbling out from the bluff at its 
foot and winding away down the valley to join the 
river through the only break in the surrounding 
hills. In this cove lay the Murray home, the farm 
lands extending from side to side of the valley and 
its grazing lands far up the mountain. 

On the knoll by the spring stood the farmhouse, 
while farther down in the edge of the meadow stood 
the barns and granaries. The road wound down 
the hill by the farmhouse, along the side of the cove 
and away through the gap and across the river. 

The old man stopped to view the scene before be- 
ginning the descent. The dying sunlight from 
across the valley mellowed the outlines and made of 
the whole a beautiful picture. In the foreground 
stood the square farmhouse, with its big stack chim- 
ney in the centre, and wide, airy porch at the front. 
The house nestled among the shade trees and or- 
chards, while immediately below were the barns 
and lots, with the herds of cattle and horses graz- 
ing in the pastures. In the background, through the 
gap, could be seen the waters of the river reflecting 
f25] 


3[ean Carroll 

the rays of the fast-sinking sun, while all around, 
as if a frame for the picture, extended the pine-cov- 
ered mountains. 

The old man broke the silence with: “Jean, my 
son, this is our home. Do you think you will like 
it?” 

“Yes, grandpa. I like the trees and the hills and 
the water and the deer, but I like the trees best,” 
the boy responded with fervor. 

Jean was welcomed home by a sweet little grand- 
mother, who kissed and petted and warmed him, and 
at last tucked him away in bed in the large south 
room, where in the morning, and many mornings 
thereafter, he watched the sun climb the sky over a 
great pine tree on the mountain top. The sun ris- 
ing over this tree marked the beginning of the joys 
of a new day, just as the home-coming marked the 
beginning a new existence. 


[26] 


JEAN’S SCHOOL DAYS 



% 




CHAPTER II 


JEAN'S SCHOOL DAYS 

J EAN'S life for the first ten years with his grand- 
parents was like that of many other boys on the 
hill farms — caring for the cattle and colts in 
the winter, helping the men with the crops through 
the spring and summer, and three months of school 
at the old log schoolhouse in the fall, all interspersed 
with long tramps through the murmuring pines — • 
a life admirably adapted to develop him physically 
to the fullest perfection and to allow his natural 
disposition to mature and become strong. 

He had the usual trials of the country boy. In 
the school he had his friends and his enemies. He 
was always backward and shy, and this caused those 
inclined to be overbearing to chaff and torment him, 
and the teasing was usually taken without a word, 
but one of the offenders found at last that it could 
be carried too far. It was on a Monday morning, 
after Jean had spent the Saturday before hunting 
in the mountains, that Bud Jones, the acknowledged 
bully of the school, teased Jean about slipping away 
alone, accusing him of claiming to hunt while hid 
about the farm. Jean ignored the taunt, but not so 
with his friend and admirer, pretty Mollie Ming. 
She sneered at Bud’s speech and accused him of be- 

[29] 


31ean Carroll 

ing afraid to go to the woods alone. An angry flush 
reddened Bud’s face and he retorted : 

“Oh, you have to take the part of the doll-baby, 
do you? Maybe he didn’t go alone? Perhaps his 
particular lady friend went with him?” 

A sudden calm came over the school as Jean 
faced around. His blue eyes were no longer blue. 
His nose quivered with passion. His features grad- 
ually changed from those of a boy to the hardened 
features of an angry savage. The whole school 
stood as if paralyzed with fear and awaited the 
storm. For a few seconds no one moved, then there 
was a bound, a blow, and the school bully found 
himself sprawling on the floor, blood pouring from 
his crushed lips and nose. Jean, aroused, knew no 
quitting. Bud had gone down a second time when 
the teacher arrived, caught Jean by the collar and 
prepared to chastise him. There was a twist, a pull 
and a blow from the enraged pupil and the six-foot 
teacher went down by the side of Bud, while Jean 
strode from the room and off toward the woods 
without looking back. 

The teacher arose, washed the blood from his 
face and called school as usual. The children took 
their places and seemed to study their lessons, but 
the very quietness of the room told plainer than 
words that their feelings were being suppressed. 
The teacher, carefully refraining from criticising 
the poorly prepared lessons, continued the work un- 
til about three o’clock in the afternoon, and the 
school was beginning to resume its usual condition, 
when Jean, calm and collected, with all trace of 

[30] 


3[ean Carroll 

the morning’s passion gone, walked into the room 
and took his accustomed seat. 

Again the uneasy stillness of the forenoon came 
over the school, as the teacher took down from two 
nails on the wall a long, tough hickory switch and 
said: “Jean Carroll, come up to this desk and ex- 
plain your conduct of this morning.” 

“I have nothing to explain, sir. I need punish- 
ment, and have come back to take whatever you 
wish to give me,” said Jean, advancing to the teach- 
er’s desk. 

“Hold out your hand, then,” and the boy’s bare 
fingers were lashed until the girls of the school cried 
for very pity, yet he never moved nor winced. The 
training of a long generation of ancestors to en- 
dure torture with indifference was having its effect 
and death itself might come but never a cry for 
pity. 

When school closed, Jean was the hero of the 
hour. Mollie and the other girls crowded around 
him to show their appreciation of his conduct. 

“Oh, Jean,” said Mollie, “your poor hands. How 
did you stand it?” 

“I don’t mind my hands, Mollie; but I hated to 
see you girls cry. I wish to-day had never been; 
please don’t say anything more about it,” replied 
Jean, and quickly turned away. 

The fight was not renewed, and scarcely ever men- 
tioned, but it created a faction in the school which 
remained long after the cause was forgotten, for 
Bud had his followers and they hated Jean all the 
more because of the friends he made. 

[3i] 


3fean Carroll 

When Jean was fifteen years old and had finished 
the course taught at the old log schoolhouse, his 
grandfather urged him to go away to school. Jean 
loved his mountain home and dreaded to leave his 
only friends, but Jaques Murray urged so strongly 
that he consented to go, and a few days later bid 
good-by to his aged relatives, to his school friends 
and to the beloved forest, then mounted into the 
big farm wagon to go to Springfield, where he 
would take the train for Virginia to enroll as a 
member of the boy’s college, where his father, and 
his father’s father before him, had spent their school 
days. 

At the end of three years Jean was called hur- 
riedly home to find the sweet old grandmother too 
near death’s door to speak his name, but with love 
and thankfulness in her eyes that she had lived to 
see her dear boy before her life departed. Jean re- 
mained at home only a few days after the funeral, 
then returned for two more years at the school. 

He had made a good record, both at his studies 
and at play, and would leave school one of the en- 
vied ones — a member of the college football team. 
Thanksgiving day of Jean’s last year had arrived. 
The great football game of the season was to be 
played. The players were in the field, each man in 
his place, but in after life the remainder of that day 
seemed a dream to Jean. As in a vision he could see 
a vast throng of people watching for the game to 
begin, eleven men in brown crouched for a spring, 
ten others and himself in blue guarding a ball. The 
signal was called, the ball was thrown, he caught it 

[32] 


3fean Carroll 

and ran. There was a rush and scramble and then 
— something- was wrong, an alarm was heard, con- 
fusion upon confusion. The crowded grandstand 
was on fire. The people were rushing from it to 
the ground. All seemed to be safe and the flames 
swiftly spread over the tall frame structure, when 
suddenly a little child was seen high upon the stand, 
above the flames. 

There was a hush on the throng, but not for long. 
There was a flash of blue and Jean entered the 
flames. They dashed and struggled, and almost 
stopped him, but he pushed on. They wrapped and 
quivered and writhed about him, but Old Watum- 
ska’s blood was up and would not give back. He 
passed the fiery blast and reached the child. He 
slipped off his jacket to shield its form. With the 
little one in his arms he dashed downward and after 
a stumbling, burning struggle reached the field, 
dropped the child safe, but himself tottered and fell 
to the ground. 

Willing hands removed the burning clothing and 
bathed his face, but he did not move. Then a young 
girl dropped on her knees by his side and spoke to 
him. Slowly his eyes opened to see bending over 
him a young face set with large blue eyes and sur- 
rounded with sun-kissed golden hair. He saw the 
face bend lower and lower, closer and closer, and 
then — was it a dream — she kissed his parched and 
burning lips. He heard her say: “You saved my 
little cousin.” Then he slept again. 

Two w r eeks later he awoke from a severe attack 
of fever to find that he had been awarded a medal 

[33] 


3fean Carroll 

for performing a brave deed, but no one knew that 
he held in his memory a picture of far more value — 
a picture of beautiful blue eyes and sun-kissed 
golden hair. 


[34] 


PLANNING JEAN’S WELCOME 


CHAPTER III 


PLANNING JEAN'S WELCOME 

F IFTEEN years have passed since Jean Carroll 
made the journey from New Orleans to the 
Ozarks. Fifteen years, in which the trouble- 
some reconstruction period of the South has passed. 
Fifteen years, which has greatly reduced the effects 
of the late war. Fifteen years, in which the busi- 
ness of the country has doubled. Fifteen years of 
advancement for the country at large; and fifteen 
years without change for the beautiful bald knobs. 
Feuds, lawlessness and bloodshed terrorize the land. 
’Tis true, progress is nearing, but the hill country 
is still untouched. 

The St. Louis & San Francisco Railroad has 
stretched its line from St. Louis to Springfield, and 
on beyond, marking the northern boundary of the 
Bald Knob Land. There are rumors of another 
line to be built from Kansas City to Springfield and 
on to Memphis, clipping the eastern limits of the 
hill country. The great State of Missouri is awak- 
ening to her possibilities. Commerce is spreading; 
land prices are advancing. All over the State “war 
times” have been forgotten or forgiven, except in 
this one spot — the land of the Bald-knobbers. 

Jean Carroll has grown from a wondering boy 

[37] 


3|eart Cattoll 

to a broad-shouldered man. He has fulfilled the 
promise of his youth. He stands nearly six feet 
tall, broad of body and well proportioned, while 
every movement indicates agility and strength. His 
features are a study for an artist. All the charac- 
teristics of his mixed ancestry are blended together 
into one strong face. The prominent Roman nose 
of the Scot, the curly black hair of the French, and 
the firm-set mouth of the English, while over all 
the watchfulness of the Indian race is stamped. His 
eyes are an honest blue in peace, an indescribable hue 
in passion. Jean has completed his years in college 
and will soon return to his mountain home. 


It was springtime in the Ozarks. Springtime, 
when the maple buds in the valleys were bursting 
through their winter blankets and tingeing the tree- 
tops a reddish green, while on the hillsides were 
seen pink clusters of the blooming red bud. It was 
springtime, and all Nature was singing its voiceless 
song of thankfulness. 

Near sundown on one of the first warm days of 
the season, Frank Jackson stopped his horse at the 
Ming gate in response to an invitation from Mollie, 
now grown from a curly-haired, round-faced 
schoolgirl to a pretty young woman, to arrange for 
a party at which Jean was to be welcomed home. 
Frank enthusiastically joined in the plans, and it 
was agreed that, as Jean would arrive on the fol- 
lowing Tuesday, the party would be held on Wed- 
nesday evening, and that they would meet at Mol- 
[ 38 ] 


3!ean Carroll 

lie’s home, if she could gain the consent of her 
parents. 

They then began to name the ones to be invited. 
Frank noticed that the name of Bud Jones had been 
omitted and asked: “You didn’t name Bud Jones; 
won’t you invite him?” 

Mollie’s voice lost its cheerful tone as she an- 
swered: “Yes; I guess we will have to on father’s 
account, they seem such friends ; but I hope he won’t 
come. He’s getting worse every day.” 

It was also decided that they would invite their 
new neighbors, Mr. Rogers and Ula Dean. At this 
point they were joined by Mr. Ming and Mollie 
at once said : “Oh, daddy, we’re planning a party in 
honor of Jean Carroll, and we want to have it here 
next Wednesday night. We can, can’t we?” 

“Why, I don’t know, Mollie,” answered her fa- 
ther with some hesitation. “I like Jean as well as 
anybody, but I don’t see the use of making such a 
fuss over his coming back. Just have a party with- 
out calling it anybody’s party.” 

“No; that won’t do. Jean will just have come, 
and we want to show him we have not forgotten 
him, and welcome him home. We can have it, can’t 
we?” 

“Oh, yes, I guess you can, if your heart’s set on 
it, but be sure and don’t slight any of the neigh- 
bors. You mustn’t make any of our old friends 
mad.” 

“We won’t, daddy.” 

Chris Ming walked away with a troubled look on 

[39] 


3Iean Carroll 

his face. Mollie and Frank completed the arrange- 
ments and Frank rode home through the dusk. 

That evening, while sitting about the fireplace 
before bedtime, Mollie said: “Daddy, why didn’t 
you want us to call it Jean’s party?” 

“Because, Mollie, I was afraid it might make 
some of our old friends mad.” 

“I know what you mean, daddy. It’s Bud Jones, 
and if he gets mad about my party he’s less sense 
than I thought.” 

The troubled look again came over Chris’ face as 
he replied. “Mollie, Bud has lots of influence 
around here, and we must be friendly to him.” 

“All right, daddy, I will,” she replied; but when 
she went to her room she could not help wondering 
why her father was so afraid of offending Bud 
Jones. 

The day of the party was one of those spring 
days that make all the world glad. The morning 
dawned with a silvery mist hanging over the river, 
shutting out as a screen the distant hill lands, but 
as the sun arose the mist disappeared, revealing to 
the eye a glorious landscape. Near at hand the 
green grass was just beginning to cover the earth 
that had been blackened by the fires a few weeks 
before, and between the trees on the hillside could 
be seen the blue and the delicate white tints of 
the violets and daisy. In the distance were the for- 
est-clad mountains, broken on the lower parts by 
ledges of white where the hardy dogwood reared 
their blooming heads. 

Jean had arrived home the evening before, and 

[40] 


3[ean Carroll 

this morning, as he stepped out into the glorious 
sunlight and viewed the beautiful scene, felt with 
the poet that “there’s no place like home.” While 
standing in the yard admiring the landscape that 
seemed to him never to have looked so beautiful 
before, Frank Jackson called to him from the gate. 

The two old schoolmates shook hands, and Frank 
told him of the party that Molly Ming was to give 
in his honor, and asked him if he would come. 

“Come! Of course I’ll come; but it all seems too 
good to be true. To think that I am at home again 
and that my friends have not forgotten me. Come 
in and take breakfast with me.” 

“No, Jean, I haven’t time, besides I’ve been to 
breakfast. I’ve lots to do to-day inviting all the 
young folks, so good-by until to-night,” and Frank 
rode on his way, leaving Jean wondering at the 
pleasures that were falling to his lot. 

By sundown that evening several farm teams, 
hitched to well-seated wagons, and dozens of sad- 
dled horses were tied to the trees in front of the 
Ming home, and throughout the next hour the 
guests continued to arrive, until the roomy log 
house was filled to overflowing with chattering, 
laughing girls, while the boys lounged about out- 
side, enjoying the pleasant evening breeze and talk- 
ing and playing pranks on each other. 

Frank and Jean arrived at the party together, and 
the latter was at once surrounded by a throng of 
friends and for some time was kept busy shaking 
hands with old acquaintances and making new ones. 
Among those he met for the first time were the Mc- 
[4i] 


31 e a tt CattoII 

Faddens, two brothers and a sister, and Martin 
Rogers, a young botanist, who made his home with 
a distant relative, a Mr. Dean, who had purchased 
the Johnson farm and moved to it a year before. 
The Johnson farm joined the Murray farm down 
the river. 

After greetings all around, Frank invited the girls 
out into the moonlight, where, on the smooth, 
grassy lawn, the evening games were begun, and 
for several hours pattering feet kept time to the 
jingling rhymes of Money Musk, Buffalo and other 
merry songs. But why try to describe the events 
of the evening, for what pen can convey the thrill 
of an old-fashioned country party to a happy, 
healthy boy or girl. 

When all were tired with the plays and games, 
Mollie turned to Frank and said: “Now, Mr. Ring- 
master, what next? You are master of cere- 
monies.” 

“I don’t know what next. What do you say, 
Jean?” 

“I don’t care. Why not rest awhile and talk; 
I wknt to hear all the news since I went away. Why 
not each one tell something that has happened ?” 

“Oh, that’s the thing,” several cried. 

“But how’ll we decide who’ll begin?” asked one. 

“That’s easy enough,” said Sam Miller. “We’ll 
all sit down in a circle and blindfold ‘Dutchy’ Web- 
ber and let him touch some one to begin, then go to 
the right, each taking their turn.” 

The circle was formed and “Dutchy” was led 
to the centre, blindfolded, turned around half a 

[42] 


3!eatt Carroll 

dozen times and released. He stumbled about in 
the circle and finally touched Martin Rogers. 

Mr. Rogers, although almost a stranger to most 
of the company, had been received so hospitably 
that he willingly took the opening part in this, to 
him, a new game. “Friends,” he began, “I have not 
been with you long and do not know much of the 
neighborhood news, but I wish to say to your old 
friend and my new friend, Jean Carroll, that I am 
agreeably surprised to find so many pleasant people 
in a country believed by outsiders to be almost 
wild.” 

The speaker was cheered for his words, and the 
turn passed on along the line, each one giving a 
bit of news, the items ranging from an account of 
Grandma Cain’s old cow dying to the acquisition 
of a new Baptist preacher in the community. Bert 
Hawley, always the dullard in school, started the 
fun when he gave a mournful account of the death 
of his favorite yellow dog, and the fun kept up as 
the turns went round. 

When it came Mollie Ming’s turn she said : “The 
latest and best news that I know of, Jean, is that 
Ula Dean has come to this neighborhood.” 

“And who is this Miss Dean that you think her 
coming such good news?” asked Jean. 

“She is the daughter of the man who bought the 
Johnson farm, and so is one of your nearest neigh- 
bors. Her mother is sick to-night, or she would 
have come. She is one of the sweetest girls you 
ever saw. You will have to see her to appreciate 
her, but be careful, she already has a sweetheart,” 

[43] 


31ean Carroll 

and Mollie glanced at Mr. Rogers, but that discreet 
gentleman refused to hear and went on talking with 
his neighbor. 

The next one to speak was Sam Miller. Sam 
was a stock dealer in a small way, and in this man- 
ner had become well acquainted over the county. 
He began with: “The others have been giving you 
the neighborhood news, so I will give you the po- 
litical news. You know the Republicans used to 
have it all their own way over the county ; now that 
is all changed. Neither the Republicans nor Demo- 
crats control the county now, for the balance of 
power is held by the Bald-knobbers, and they prac- 
tically control, not only this county, but the other 
counties around here.” 

“Do they still hold to the principles that they be- 
gan with,” asked Jean, “for if they do it must be a 
good thing for the county that they control.” 

“I’m afraid they don’t,” said Sam. “Still, it is 
not always safe to say just what you think, and 
there is one thing certain, it won’t pay to fight 
against them. They have control and run things 
their own way; those who oppose are apt to get 
‘threshed.’ ” 

“That may be so, but surely the good people of 
this county do not let a lot of toughs run things 
just because they are toughs?” replied Jean. 

All eyes turned upon Bud Jones, whose face was 
burning red, but Mollie Ming, with ready tact, 
called out: “Oh, quit talking dull politics and let’s 
have a game of drop the handkerchief.” 

An awkward situation was thus averted, and 

[ 44 ] 


3lean Catroll 

after a few more lively games the guests departed, 
thanking Mollie and Frank for a pleasant evening. 

Before Jean left Mollie cautioned him: “Be care- 
ful what you say about the Bald-knobbers ; there’s 
lots of them around here.” 


[45] 













SELECTING A HORSE 














CHAPTER IV 


SELECTING A HORSE 


S PRINGTIME in the Ozarks, with the dogwood 
on the mountainside like fleecy clouds in an 
evening sky, the odor of pines and ferns in the 
forest, and the call of the bluebird and jay from the 
thickets, greeted Jean as he wandered from moun- 
tain to river visiting the favorite haunts of his 
childhood. After the years of hard study, sur- 
rounded’ by all the innovations of modern civiliza- 
tion in the Eastern city, the freedom of the moun- 
tains put new life into his veins. Not a new life, 
but the old realization of life, a life of action, force 
and power. It seemed that he never again could 
get enough of the woods. Every tree, shrub and 
flower, every animal or bird of the forest, seemed 
akin to him, and he rejoiced that his duties threw 
him among such pleasant surroundings. And the 
people he met — how different from those of the 
East. None of the stiff formalities of speech and 
action, but a natural freedom and grace that rested 
his tired nerves. He had yet to learn of the dread 
power of that unknown secret organization, the 
Bald-knobbers. 

One morning about a week after the home- 

[49] 


3[ean Carroll 

coming Jaques Murray joined Jean on the porch 
and said: “Jean, will you ride with me to the pas- 
ture this morning? I want to show you the 
horses/’ 

“Nothing will suit me better, grandfather; wait 
here while Joe and I saddle the ponies.” 

- The ponies were brought from the barn and they 
rode down the hill and along the grassy road toward 
the lower pasture. On the way they met Bud Jones, 
who spoke to them both, but in a sullen fashion. 

When Bud had passed on Jean said : “What is the 
matter with Bud ? Does he still owe me a grudge for 
our fight when we were boys?” 

“I suppose so, Jean. Bud is of a revengeful dis- 
position and perhaps holds that against you. He 
has always been gruff with me.” 

“How is he getting along in the world? He 
rides a fine-looking horse.” 

“Yes, he rides a good horse and seems to prosper 
in every way; but many wonder how he does it, for 
he never works.” 

“Why, how’s that?” 

“I can’t tell you how. All I know is that Bud 
spends his time riding around the country. Many 
believe he is connected with the Bald-knobbers. You 
remember them, the secret clan that was organized 
to enforce the law. Well, the clan has become al- 
most all-powerful, and from a law-enforcing society 
it has become a law-breaking one, the scourge of the 
land. It is believed that Bud is at the head of the 
clan, and that he levies secret tribute money from 
well-to-do farmers whom thev claim to protect for 

[ 5 °] ' 


3f c a it Cattoll 

money consideration. These farmers prefer to pay 
rather than to take chances. I cannot state that the 
clan collects tribute as a fact, but I do know that no- 
tices have been served on me to donate to the ex- 
penses of the clan or protection will be withheld.” 

“Why, that is blackmail.” 

“Yes, it is blackmail, and I did not heed their 
notices, and I suspect I have suffered some losses 
for my act. Some of my best cattle mysteriously 
disappeared last year. Still I have fared much bet- 
ter than some others.” 

“Has nothing been done to stop such practices?” 

“Nothing at all. Others who deplored such con- 
duct have done as I have done — held their tongues 
— although deeds have been committed around here 
to make a free man blush for shame. Yet their acts 
were not always bad. At first they wielded a good 
influence and crime in the mountains almost ceased, 
but of late the leaders of the clan have changed 
until now it is more to be feared than the criminals 
were before.” 

“How does the clan work and how do they punish 
their victims?” questioned Jean. 

“They work altogether in secret and acquire all 
their knowledge by secret methods, and they use all 
manner of punishment. Last week Dan Carson, 
over on Cowskin, was given three hundred lashes 
for failing to pay a debt. Dan came near dying, 
but will recover. Several lives have been taken in 
fights when the one to be punished resisted.” 

“Who are these Bald-knobbers, grandfather? Do 
you know any of them?” 

[51] 


3fean Carroll 

“No, I do not know one, although I suspect sev- 
eral. As I said before, Bud Jones is believed to be 
a leader, but I do not know. No one knows who 
they are, except their members. They formerly 
consisted of only the best men of the county, men 
who organized for self-protection, but now things 
have changed. The best men have quit or been 
crowded down, and the lawless element controls. 
Like all attempts to take law out of its proper chan- 
nel, it rebounds and injures those who think to use 
it.” 

“This country does not punish for failure to pay 
debts. Why doesn’t Dan Carson sue the clan for 
damages? He could get it.” Jean spoke hotly, for 
the thought of such crimes had aroused him. 

“No; he could do nothing. The county officers 
belong to and favor the toughs, and besides Lem 
may not know who his punishers were, and if he 
knew and told, his life would probably pay the pen- 
alty. It does not pay to oppose the clan.” 

“And you think this clan gives Bud Jones much 
power over the county?” 

“Yes ; the fear of him gives him prestige. He has 
gained considerable property in one way and an- 
other. He has followed horse racing and been very 
successful, and now rules things with a lordly hand. 
Rumor says the county sheriff is owned by him, 
body and soul. Anyway, the sheriff owes Bud his 
election, and neither he nor his deputies can be in- 
duced to ferret out any of the crimes the clan com- 
mits.” 

They had now reached the pasture gate and, after 
[ 52 ] 


31 1 a it Carroil 

passing through, Jean rode on with lowered head. 
Was this fair land, which seemed so pure and free, 
dominated by an overbearing spirit like Bud Jones? 
From the bully of the school had Bud become the 
bully of the land, to run over and trample down 
the weak ; and who was to curb this power which 
came from a source unseen, unknown? In the old 
days the schoolmaster held Bud and his followers in 
check, now his hands were free and his unknown 
power seemed more potent than had Bud’s fists dur- 
ing school days. 

They rode on without speaking, the old man 
dreaming of successes of the past, the young man 
striving to catch glimpses of the future and wonder- 
ing what the result of the unsettled condition of the 
country would be. When they reached the lower 
pasture, they found the horses gathered on the bank 
of the river, a fine herd of hardy trotting and rac- 
ing stock, for Jaques Murray had brought the love 
of horses and racing as one of the heritages of his 
Southern home. 

“Jean,” the old man spoke feelingly, “you know 
how I love my horses. Horses are next to human 
beings in intelligence, and sometimes far ahead of 
them in constancy. Here are some of the best 
horses in all the country, and I want you to learn to 
love them as I love them. I have brought you down 
here to look them over and take your choice. Choose 
which you will have.” 

Jean thanked him warmly, and rode slowly among 
the grazing animals and examined them critically. 
Making a choice was not an easy matter. All were 

[53] 


31 e a n Carroll 

good, but there was one easily recognized as a 
leader, and Jean’s attention was directed to him. He 
was a dark-red bay, four years old, smooth of body 
and strong of limb. Unlike the rest of the herd, he 
did not continue grazing while Jean rode around 
them, but with head uplifted was ever on the alert. 
. “Grandfather, I’ll choose the red bay with the 
long mane,” spoke Jean. 

“A good horse, Jean. A good horse, but hard to 
manage. The farm hands have not been able to do 
anything with him. He will be a fine horse when 
conquered, but will be hard to conquer. Well, he’s 
yours. Handle him as you like,” saying which the 
old man turned toward the house. 

Jean drove the horses to the barn and had fas- 
tened the startled bay in a stall when Frank Jack- 
son and Sam Miller rode up to the gate on their 
way to the store and post office. 

“Hello, Jean, what’re you doin’?” called Frank. 

“Getting ready to break in a new horse grand- 
father gave me,” Jean replied with a friendly wave 
of the hand. “Won’t you come in and help?” 

“Yes, if Sam will. What do you say, Sam?” 

“Yes, I’ll help,” was the reply, and the two dis- 
mounted and entered the lot, when Sam asked : 
“What kind of a horse is he, Jean? A runner, I 
hope, for you’ll need him when Bud Jones gets 
after you. He claims Mollie Ming.” 

“I’m not interfering with Bud Jones,” Jean re- 
plied without turning his head. “I’ve come home 
to stay and want to get along with everybody.” 

“You’ll have to play puppy to Bud or have him 

[ 54 ] 


31 c a it Carroll 

to fight, and he’s counted the best man in the 
county.” 

“Bud can keep the honor as for me. How do you 
fix this saddle, Frank? It’s been a long time since 
I rode horseback,” and Jean changed the conversa- 
tion which was becoming distasteful to him. 

Frank quickly began to assist him, saying: “Roll 
up this wagon sheet and tie it across the horn — it’ll 
keep you from being pulled forward — then arrange 
to tie the stirrups together. Now, that’s all right; 
where’s the horse ?” 

“He’s here in the barn.” 

Jean walked into the barn with a strong halter in 
his hand. A few moments later he led the magnifi- 
cent animal out. The horse hardly pulled at the 
rein, but viewed the boys with wondering, fright- 
ened eyes. 

Preparations were at once begun for saddling the 
now quivering animal. All worked in breathless si- 
lence. Frank held the rein, Sam stood by with 
bridle and saddle near, ready to hand to Jean as 
needed. Grandfather Murray climbed the high rail 
fence and awaited developments. 

Just as Jean was moving up to place the bridle 
on the horse, Bud Jones came riding back down the 
road, saw the boys at work and rode into the lot. 
He was invited to join in the horse-breaking, but de- 
clined, giving the excuse that he did not have time ; 
still he remained in the lot and kept slapping his leg 
with his long riding whip and talking in a loud 
voice, making the saddling of the now frightened 
horse much more difficult. 

[55] 


3featt Carroll 

Jean again approached the horse, moving slowly 
along the halter rein, talking to him in gentle tones, 
and adroitly slipped the bits between his teeth and 
the reins over his head. Sam quickly passed the 
saddle forward, and with slow, almost noiseless, 
movements this was laid on the quivering back. 
The horse seemed startled into submission, seemed 
bereft of the power to move; but this stillness boded 
no good. They all realized it as only the calm be- 
fore the storm. The girths were gently fastened, 
and then, at a sign, Frank loosed the halter rein as 
Jean pulled the girths to the last notch and sprang 
into the saddle. 

There was a moment of intense stillness as the 
now thoroughly frightened horse seemed sinking 
into the earth, then with a bound, as if shot from 
a catapult, the enraged animal sprang into the air, 
came down with head on breast, feet bunched, and 
commenced a wild, leaping, pitching race away 
across the meadow. Such pitching was what tried 
the rider’s mettle and woe to the one who became 
frightened, or whose saddle contained a weak point. 

Jean was not accustomed to riding while away at 
school, but as a boy had often helped break the colts, 
and all his life had taken vigorous exercise. He 
kept his seat, although the animal gave him some 
severe jerks, doing everything in its power to dis- 
lodge him. Jean watched every chance to check the 
speed, sitting loosely in the saddle and striving to 
keep a perfect balance, but sit as he would, the long 
leaps of the heavy horse had soon jolted the blood 
from his nose. 

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31 e a n Carroll 

At thelfirst lunge, Sam and Frank mounted their 
own horses and followed the rider and maddened 
horse as they tore along toward the lower pasture, 
assisting the rider by keeping the horse away from 
fences and the rougher parts of the field. 

The plunging horse soon reached the lower 
meadow, and was nearing the almost perpendicular 
bluff which overhung the “Round Hole,” a deep 
pond in the river, when Jean called out: “Turn him, 
boys; don’t let him hit the bluff. He’s almost con- 
quered.” 

With whip and spur the two boys wheeled around 
between the now foaming horse and the river bank, 
and had almost turned him, when Bud Jones, who 
had followed the race, rode straight at Jean’s horse, 
reached his side and gave him a sharp cut with his 
whip. 

Jean saw the blow, but had no time to prevent its 
effect. The frenzied animal sprang into the air, 
struck Sam’s horse in the descent, knocking him to 
his knees, and the next leap had reached the bluff’s 
edge. The horse saw his danger, but had no power 
to stop himself, his momentum was carrying him 
directly ahead. Horse and rider rose again and 
shot into the air and disappeared over the bluff, 

Jean knew the consequences when he saw the de- 
scent of the whip. Instantly he formed his plan: 
the horse must leap straight out and down to the 
deep water. Failure meant certain death on the 
rocky ledge. He set his teeth, gathered the reins, 
and guided the horse straight ahead. As the horse 
rose for the final leap, Jean felt the same ecstatic 

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31 e a n Carroll 

thrill as when he climbed through the fire. He felt 
the rush of the air upward as horse and rider went 
swiftly down through the twenty feet of space, then 
there was a splash as they both were buried deep 
under the foaming water. Jean felt a choking sen- 
sation, but the horse came to the surface with him 
still in the saddle, and struck out for the opposite 
bank. 

When Frank and Sam had hurried around the 
bluff and down the hill they found Jean riding the 
now well-broken horse along the shady river road. 

“Jean, what made the horse take such a spell?” 
said Sam. “He seemed to go wild.” 

“He must have become frightened at Bud Jones,” 
Frank added. “Bud rode too close to him.” 

“I think that was it, Frank,” said Jean, his heart 
too full of ‘anger and hate to speak of Bud’s act. 
“Well, Sam, now that he’s broken, what do you 
think of him?” 

“Think of him! I think he’s the finest horse I 
ever saw. He ought to run well from his build, 
and the way he can buck, but he gave you a close 
call. I thought it was all over with you.” 

“I thought so, too,” said Frank; “but he didn’t 
hurt you, after all. What are you going to name 
him, the Flying Dutchman? He tried to fly.” 

“No; I thought I’d call him Red, he’s such a 
bright red bay,” said Jean. 

“Yes, Red is all right; but I’d add a little to that. 

| I’d call him Red Buck,” and Red Buck remained his 
name. 


[ 58 ] 


A TRAMP IN THE WOODS 



CHAPTER y 

A TRAMP IN THE WOODS 

T HE next morning after the horse-breaking, 
Jean arose early from a sleepless bed, shoul- 
dered his rifle and stole away to the forest. 
He crossed the hill and struck for the densest part of 
the woodland. The whole night had been one con- 
tinued struggle to forget Bud Jones’ act, and the 
morning had found the deed unforgotten. It drove 
everything else from his mind. He forgot the care 
of the horses. Forgot that he had promised Sam 
Miller that he would ride to the store with him. 
Forgot everything except that Bud Jones had 
wronged him. In the soul of the wanderer was 
being fought the battle of his dual nature — the 
spirit of his Christian ancestors which taught “Love 
your enemies; do good to them which hate you,” 
was arrayed against the creed of his chieftain 
grandfather, “Love your friends; smite your ene- 
mies” — and the result was yet unsettled. 

Jean walked on and on through the forest, slowly 
and silently, like an Indian hunter stalking game. 
He tried to forget; tried to turn his attention to 
things of the woods, but his feelings would not 
down. The cowardly act of Bud Jones kept crowd- 

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3fean Carroll 

ing itself to the front, and the battle for the mastery 
waged on. 

Noon came, but hunger was not felt. The bright 
sunshine of the forenoon gave way to a threatening 
cloud from the southwest, but the silent walker 
did not change his course. A drop of rain, then a 
patter of large drops and the storm burst forth with 
all its fury, but Jean heeded it not. No outward 
chill could cool the raging heat within his brain, 
nor outward storm compare with the raging tempest 
within. All the demons of unknown generations 
of savage warriors held his soul and demanded of 
him revenge on his enemies. 

The storm had passed and left a dripping and 
sodden forest. Now Nature was taking on a more 
peaceful mood. The song birds began to twitter. 
A covey of quail, startled by the hunter, whirred 
across the valley. A great bald eagle, that had 
topped the clouds to evade the storm, was slowly 
circling in long, graceful curves toward the earth. 
Jean stopped, stood a moment, then seated himself 
on an uprooted tree, a relic of the storm just passed. 
A quiet moment, then a pleasant smile replaced the 
dark frown of an hour before. The Christian traits 
had conquered — Bud Jones could live. 

Low in the west the sun burst out from the last 
remnants of the storm clouds. All was quiet and 
beautiful again. 

Jean sat for some time thinking over his past life 
and of his surroundings and his future, of the dimly 
remembered parents in the almost forgotten South- 
ern city, of the long stage ride with Tom, of the 
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3fean Carroll 

school days while on the farm and his love of the 
woods, of his friendship with pretty Mollie Ming, 
and the boyhood fight with Bud Jones. He went 
over the years in the Virginia college. How he 
studied to become wiser and better, until he had be- 
lieved that his ungovernable passions had all passed 
away. But this day had taught him a new lesson. 
He now realized that dispositions are gifts from 
ancestors and, while they may be lulled to sleep, 
cannot be killed. They only sleep to return with all 
their former strength when awakened. 

He thought of the games of college football, and 
of the fire and how he climbed through the flames, 
regardless of pain, and now, for the first time, real- 
ized that he owed his power to do or die to the same 
spirit that a few hours before had called so loudly 
for the destruction of his enemy. He was learning 
the greatest lesson of life, “Know thyself,” and he 
arose, no longer a boy, but a man. A man with 
recognized passions; passions which needed con- 
stant watching and controlling, but which were not 
altogether bad, but a power when controlled. 

Then he remembered the sweet blue eyes and 
golden hair that were bending over him after the 
fire, and he wondered if the soul behind those eyes 
was as pure as the eyes were blue. 

He awoke from his reverie and looked around to 
see where he was. Down to the east was a deep, 
steep valley, with a sparkling creek winding between 
its stony banks. 

“Well, I’m getting away from home sure. That 
creek’s Cowskin, and the knob over there is Lone- 

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31 e a n Carroll 

tree Mountain. Hunter Jack must live down here 
to the right; I’ll go down by the cabin and see him. 
But won’t he grin when he sees me so far from 
home without game?” With these words Jean 
strode down the hill, whistling a lively tune. All 
the desire to steal through the woods like a hunter 
had passed. 

Jack Trentham was a hunter of the old school. 
He had come into the mountains from no one knew 
where. 

He never talked about his former life. All that 
was known of him was that he was a kind old man, 
who lived in his little cabin under the hill, all alone, 
and kept his own counsel. He had no occupation 
except “huntin’ an’ fishinV’ He was an expert in 
the art of getting game, and his knowledge of the 
ways of the denizens of the forest was proverbial. 
But few knew his real name, as he was known the 
country over as Hunter Jack. 

Hunter Jack was tall and slim, with a decided 
stoop to his shoulders, a habit contracted while 
stooping and stalking game. His dress was always 
the same : brown homespun pants fastened with a 
leather cow-bell strap for a belt, a heavy brown 
linsey shirt, with a large pocket on the left breast, a 
long brown jean coat, with sleeves that reached 
only a little below the elbows, strong cowhide boots 
and a coonskin cap. This completed the outfit, if 
we except the long squirrel rifle and shot-pouch, 
with knife and powder-horn attached, which was 
always carried and seemed a part of him. Hunter’s 
only companion was a dog. He never owned but 

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3Iean Catcoll 

one at a time, and this was always of the yellow 
variety, gaunt and hungry-looking, not from want 
of food, but from hard service. The old hunter 
lived in a little mud-daubed cabin on the breaks of 
Cowskin. He rarely visited with any of the near- 
by farmers, but always seemed pleased when any of 
them stopped with him. 

On the evening of Jean's tramp through the 
woods, Hunter Jack was sitting in his cabin door 
when he heard a stone roll on the hillside at the 
same instant Old Rule raised his head and growled. 

“Down, Rule, down!" commanded Jack, “that’s 
a friend. Enemies use more care in their approach." 

“Hello, friend! Well, I’ll swan, if it ain’t Jean 
Carroll, grown up to be a man. Come in, Jean, and 
dry yourself at the fire. Tell me how it is with you. 
Why, you’ve got one of them new-fangled guns, 
haven’t you ? Whar’s your game ?’’ 

“Haven’t any, Uncle Jack," laughed Jean. 
“Haven’t had very good luck to-day." 

“You sure hain’t, and to-day’s been a fine day. 
Deer all lying on the North hillside. Would have 
gone out myself, but there’s no sale for them now." 

“Well, I didn’t find any. I guess I went at it 
wrong." 

“You can’t follow the woods with your thoughts 
in town. Are you wishin’ you was back to the big 
school ag’in?" 

“No, Uncle Jack; I’ve come home to stay; but I 
didn’t feel just like hunting to-day. I’m bothered." 

“Bothered about what? It shorely ain’t a girl? 
With your good health and friendly ways you 

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31ean Carroll 

oughtn’t to bother about a girl. When I shoot at 
a buck I try to kill; but I know he’s not the only 
one in the woods.” 

“It’s not a girl that bothers me; but a girl may 
be the cause,” and Jean hesitated as though select- 
ing his words. “I am bothered about the Bald- 
k'nobbers. Not that they have done anything to me, 
but I am afraid they are going to cause lots of 
trouble.” 

“Jean, they’re wolves — low, sneaking wolves,” 
and the hunter’s eyes lit up with anger. “A wolf 
never fights without they’re in a drove an’ hungry; 
but sometimes they fight mean. I never bother a 
pack of wolves as long as they let me alone, but 
when they make a break, then I just cut hell out of 
them, and I just keep after them, picking off one 
at a time, till I get the bunch. That’s the only way 
to do the clan.” 

“What do you know about the Bald-knobbers, 
uncle?” 

“Don’t know much. I know I’ve seen them sev- 
eral times riding through the woods, but they’ve 
never bothered me and I never bother them, but they 
seem to be gettin’ hungry, and somebody may have 
to get some of them.” 

“Where is their meeting place now ?” 

“I don’t know. The last time I saw them they 
was over by the Johnson farm, near Dead Man’s 
Cave. Say, thar’s something funny about that cave. 
I was passin’ thar one day and I tramped up close 
to the edge and a big chunk of dirt fell in. I just 
stayed out by holdin’ onto a limb. Then I went on 
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3[ean Carroll 

down to the Johnson spring- to get a drink, and the 
spring was boiling up muddy water. I believe that 
cave reaches to the Johnson spring stream. Now, 
Jean, sit up to supper. A hunter needs to eat if 
he don’t kill.” 

An hour later Jean left for home. When within 
a few miles of the valley, while traveling a dim 
old trail through the pine forest, he met four horse- 
men. They were speaking in low tones and riding 
in single file. All wore black masks. At the sight 
of Jean they wheeled their horses and galloped away 
through the woods. They were the Bald-knobbers 
of the Ozarks returning from the execution of some 
order of the clan. 

When daylight came, Joe found Jean at the barn 
caring for the horses, and supposed he had gotten 
to bed early as he was up so soon in the morning. 


[67] 


ft 






THE BARN-RAISING 








J 




















CHAPTER VI 


THE BARN-RAISING 

“TEAN, Mr. McFadden sent me to invite you to 
a barn-raising at his farm next Saturday, 
J with a party at night,” called Bert Hawley 
from the road near where Jean was at work. “Will 
you come?” 

“Yes, Bert; tell Mr. McFadden I’ll be there.” 

James McFadden was an Ohio farmer who had 
purchased and moved to a large tract of land down 
the river a few months before. He had proven 
himself an energetic man and a kind neighbor, and 
was well liked by all who knew him. His family 
consisted of two sons and one daughter, all grown 
and lively young people. They were therefore 
counted a valuable addition to the neighborhood. 

An invitation to a working, in the Ozarks, is the 
same as a command. Such an invitation not ac- 
cepted would be considered an open insult, and 
would subject the one who refused, without some 
good excuse, to the contempt of his neighbors. Mr. 
McFadden had planned to hire men to raise the 
large barn, but the neighbor boys had insisted on 
having the working and a party, and he accepted 
their plan to follow the rules of his adopted home. 
The barn to be raised was a large one and, as no 

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3[can Carroll 

one was to be slighted for miles around, there was 
sure to be a big crowd present. 

On the morning of the “raising” Jean saddled 
Red Buck and rode down to the McFadden farm. 
There he found many of the neighbors had already 
gathered, while others continued to come until near- 
ly the whole countryside was present. In addition 
to the men and boys for the barn raising, all the 
girls of the neighborhood had been invited to help 
cook and serve the dinner and supper, and to enjoy 
the party at night. 

Jean joined the group of men standing around 
waiting for the work to begin, and, as nearly all 
were old friends, or acquaintances, many of whom 
he had not seen since his return, he was kept busy 
shaking hands and greeting his old neighbors. 

The barn to be raised was not an ordinary log 
barn, such as the men present had been accustomed 
to, but a great mortised frame, made from squared 
logs and pinned together into four large bents, 
which formed the framing for the four walls. The 
sills were already in place on the foundation, and 
the work to be done was to raise these heavy bents 
to their place and fasten them securely together at 
the corners. 

As the work was new to most of the men, there 
was much discussion as to the best methods to be 
used, and speculation as to the weight of the frames 
and the strength necessary to handle them. This 
led to stories of feats of strength and boasts of 
former prowess by the older men. In the bald-knob 

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3[ean Carroll 

land, physical strength^ went far toward establishing 
one’s standing in the community. 

From stories of feats of strength the conversa- 
tion led to the discussion of the relative strength of 
the rising generation, and some of the younger men, 
ambitious to make a reputation that would be talked 
of when they were old, began to lift at some of the 
smaller timbers. These lifts were made more inter- 
esting by the presence of the country lasses, who 
were watching from the kitchen window, nearby, 
and were not neglecting a chance to see some fav- 
ored swain distinguish himself. 

As stated before, the barn was now in the form 
of four large bents. The end bents were forty feet 
long and sixteen feet high; the side bents were of 
the same height, but were sixty feet long. In addi- 
tion to these heavy frames, there were hewed logs, 
one foot square and thirty feet long, for central 
sills. 

The lifting tests began with one end of these sills 
and began to attract attention when Frank Jackson 
walked out to the middle of the sill, laid off his 
coat, grasped the heavy timber firmly on each side, 
and slowly raised it from the ground. He felt him- 
self well paid when he heard the hearty hand-clap- 
ping from the kitchen. 

Frank’s success induced Bert Hawley to join the 
contestants. Bert was of German descent, heavily 
built, but of a grotesque shape. A very small head 
topped off an immensely large neck, which was sup- 
ported by a long, broad back and short, squatty legs. 

[ 73 ] 


31 1 a it Carroll 

To complete the strangely curious figure, from the 
shoulders hung a pair of arms wholly out of propor- 
tion to the rest of his body. While other men’s 
hands, hanging by their sides, touch their hips, his 
almost reached his knees, giving him a clumsy, ape- 
like appearance. 

Bert walked up to the log and lifted it with ap- 
parent ease. The applause not coming to suit him, 
he looked around for “other worlds to conquer.” 
The next piece, in weight, to the sill was the forty- 
foot end bent. Bert approached this, looked it over, 
and, noting its size, started away. 

Bud Jones, who with the other men was watching 
the lifting, said: 

“What, Bert, are you afraid to try it?” 

“I’ll try it if you will,” Bert retorted. 

“Oh, I’m not lifting with the boys; wait till the 
men begin.” 

Bud’s reply was greeted with a jeering laugh, and 
he, reddening with rage that he was drawn into a 
trap, said: 

“Well, I’ll go you, long arms, but you will have 
to lift first. When you lift it, then I will.” 

Bert gathered himself together, slightly bent his 
round back, caught underneath the plate timber with 
his long arms and slowly straightened up. The big 
timbers quivered and creaked and finally cleared 
their rests. Bert walked away amid a chorus of 
cheers, but the clapping of Cora Bain’s fat red 
hands was pay enough for him, and he went around 
the rest of the day with a light heart, if he did have 
aching shoulders. 


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31 e a n Carroll 

It was now Bud’s turn to lift and all gathered 
to watch. He threw off his coat, bared his large 
muscular arms and lifted until his face was purple. 
At last one end raised while the other quivered in 
the balance, but Bud could do no more, and he let 
the frame down, defeated. There was a loud laugh 
at his expense. Bud turned with a snarl, saying: 
“There’s no one in the shape of a man can do as 
well. The Virginia football player thinks himself 
much of a man ; I dare him to try it.” 

Jean ignored the dare and turned away without 
a word, much to the regret of some of the boys who 
hated Bud and wished to see him further hu- 
miliated. 

By this time the workers had all gathered and 
the work was at once begun. The bents were raised, 
first by lifting by hand to the height of a man’s 
shoulder, then proppers went underneath with differ- 
ent length props to steady the timbers while the 
lifters caught new holds. These proppers needed to 
be the most cool and careful men, as the lives of 
all might depend on their staying with the props at 
all times. 

All went well with the two ends and one side and 
work had commenced on the last bent. To aid the 
lifters on this bent a small pulley was fastened to 
the opposite wall and a rope passed around it to the 
bent to be raised. The rope passed over the heads 
of the lifters and was pulled by a sturdy old horse 
several yards away. 

The heavy timbers had been raised to the men’s 
shoulders and the proppers, four in number, had 

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3|ean Carroll 

crawled under the heavy frame, prepared to set the 
props at the next life. Their lives depended upon 
the firm holding of the lifters. Bud Jones lifted 
on the right end, Bert Hawley on the left and Jean 
in the middle, with a number of others between. 

As the word to lift was given, some one cried: 
“The rope is breaking.” A few men let loose and 
jumped back, then, as the weight grew greater and 
greater, others left in a panic, leaving the proppers 
to their fate. The extra strain on the rope caused 
the strands to slowly separate. All the lifters had 
fled except Jean, and, as the rope slowly pulled 
apart, the whole weight of the timbers settled down 
on his broad shoulders. 

The strange look came into his eyes; the look 
his chums at school called the football stare; the 
look of a tormented savage as he stubbornly and 
quietly meets his fate. Watumska’s blood was tell- 
ing. Every muscle in his wiry form quivered with 
the strain. The rope parted and the full weight 
struck his shoulders, but he did not falter. The 
proppers hurried from their posts and grabbed the 
beam, others came to their aid, the panic was over, 
and the last bent was soon raised to its position. 

When the work was done, it was found that 
Jean’s shoulder had been badly bruised and lacerated 
by the square timber. Willing hands were ready 
to care for the wounds, but Mollie Ming would 
dress it with her own pretty hands, for Mollie’s 
father, Chris Ming, was one of the proppers. Jean 
had regained all that the refusal to lift against Bud 

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3[ean Carroll 

Jones had cost him, and Bud left the place more 
envious than ever. 

Supper was served on the grassy lawn, and the 
marching, dancing, laughing games began. Jean 
filled his place with them for a while, but he was in 
a quiet mood and soon stole away to a moonlit seat, 
and, strangely enough, Mollie Ming was near and 
Jean invited her out to rest with him. 

“Jean,” said Mollie, slowly approaching him, “I 
would like to, but I fear we must not. Bud Jones 
was mad because we talked together so much at our 
party, and father wants me to be careful not to 
offend him.” 

“Why does Bud Jones care for us talking; has 
he any claim on you. Mollie?” Jean asked. 

“No, I hate him, Jean, but father does not want 
him to get mad at us, so on his account we must 
not stay together too much.” 

“Well, Mollie, we will do as you say, but I want 
to walk home with you and your father. May I do 
that, Mollie?” 

“Yes, Jean, and I wish I could stay with you now, 
but I had better go,” and Mollie hurried away to 
join a nearby group. 

Jean sat out the rest of the games, and then 
walked home with Chris Ming and Mollie, leading 
Red Buck behind. 

At the first opportunity, Jean said: “Chris, tell 
me about this organization they call the Bald-knob- 
bers,” for he could not keep the thoughts of these 
men from his mind. 


[77] 


31 e a n Carroll 1 

Chris stammered and looked all about. “Jean, T 
hardly know how to begin. First, as you will re- 
member, the country was without laws, and many 
of the best people joined themselves together for 
protection and to help enforce the laws. Things 
were much better for a while, but of late the people 
are losing faith in the clan. I fear its usefulness 
is past.” 

“Is it a fact that they are mistreating people, as 
I have been told? Do they work for revenge, in- 
stead of law enforcement?” Jean questioned, not 
noticing the shadow that passed over Chris’s face. 

“I am afraid so, Jean, but it is best to say nothing 
about it. The clan is very strong, and bound to- 
gether by very strong ties.” 

“Well,” said Jean slowly, “I shall not try to per- 
form the duty of others, but I will oppose any man 
or body of men that I think disturbs the peace of 
our beautiful country.” 

On reaching the Ming home, Jean bade Mollie 
good night while he and Chris continued to talk of 
the condition of the county. As Jean mounted 
Red Buck to ride home, he was surprised to see the 
stooping figure of a man steal away from a bunch 
of shrubbery near the gate. The man hurried along 
the fence and into the woods. Jean thought of 
turning back and telling Chris what he had seen, 
but he feared he would alarm him needlessly. 

When a short distance from home he heard a 
body of horsemen ride rapidly across the road ahead 
of him. 


[78] 


THE WARNINGS 


4 




CHAPTER VII 


THE WARNINGS 

A FEW days after the barn-raising, Jaques 
Murray called Jean to him as he sat on the 
porch, his silvery hair glistening in the morn- 
ing sunlight. 

“Jean,” said he, “I was at the store yesterday. 
While there I overheard some of the store loafers 
talking, and when they mentioned your name I 
could not help but listen. They said you were mak- 
ing a great deal of fuss against the Bald-knobbers, 
and one of them went so far as to say ‘He’ll likely 
be visited soon if he don’t keep quiet.’ I don’t want 
to influence your actions, but I wish to warn you 
that the clan is strong and seeks excuse to punish 
those who do not assist them. It is their method 
of keeping their power. And, while I have refused 
to pay tribute to their leaders, I have kept clear of 
their enmity.” 

“Grandfather,” Jean replied, “I don’t know what 
they could have meant. I have not said a word, 
except to disapprove of their methods of work, and 
that only to intimate friends.” 

“I believe you, Jean, and can only see in such 
talk an effort to draw you into the clan’s power. 
Keep clear of the clan as far as you can to do your 

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3fean Carroll 

duty as a citizen. And, now that I think of it, the 
cattle should be looked up and salted. Have you 
time to do it to-day?” 

“Yes, the crops are all clean now, and I can go 
as well as not. Red Buck needs more exercise, any- 
way. I’ll start right off. Don’t worry about me 
getting into trouble with the Bald-knobbers, grand- 
father; if they bother me they will have to do it 
without cause.” 

“Well, I want you to do what you think best, 
Jean, but I am getting old and would like to end 
my days in peace.” 

Jean saddled Red Buck and rode off across the 
mountains to the cattle ranges, away across Fish- 
trap hollow and down by the Falling Spring. The 
grass was green in the forest and the fat cattle were 
scattered lazily about, each bunch following their 
own particular leader. By noon most of the cattle 
had been seen and Jean stopped by the spring for 
a cool drink and a rest, while Red Buck grazed on 
the brink of the stream. 

Jean stretched himself on the cool grass and gazed 
upward through the whispering pines to the cloud- 
dotted sky. How wonderful seemed the universe 
and what pygmies were the people in it. Self-im- 
portant man, who thinks that his acts may help to 
shape coming events, when all the artisans of the 
earth together could not fashion one little cloud, 
like that in yonder sky. No, could not even grow 
one twig on that lofty pine, and yet men fret and 
worry over their toils and troubles. Why, Jean 
asked himself, was it not better to live the life of 
[82] 


the savage; let each day provide the meat for its 
meals and each night furnish its own bedding. Civ- 
ilization means from day to day a contest with 
human kind.; means worries over the present and 
fears for the future. Only the simple cares of the 
present trouble the savage breast. Why should I 
care that a band of lawless men abuse and punish 
the poor and helpless of the land — yet, I do care. 
Something within me says : “He that is not for me 
is against me,” and each has his work to do. A 
tinkling sound far down the valley aroused Jean 
from his reverie. He raised up from his grassy bed 
and listened. It sounded again. It was one of the 
cattle bells, a bunch that had strayed, and he 
mounted and rode away to locate and salt the re- 
mainder of the steers. 

The last of the cattle were found on the breaks 
of Cowskin, near the cabin of Hunter Jack. When 
they had been rounded together, Jean decided to 
give the old hunter another call and rode down 
the slope to his home. The old man was just in 
from a hunt and had a fine buck hanging from a 
tree in front of his cabin. 

“Hello, Uncle Jack,” shouted Jean. 

“Why, hello, my boy, what are you doing down 
here ?” the hunter greeted him heartily, “and where 
is your gun ?” 

“I didn’t bring it this time. I’ve been looking 
up the cattle and didn’t think I’d need it.” 

“You might need it, and you might not. The 
bee don’t always need his sting as he gathers honey, 
but it comes in handy now and then. I don’t sup- 

[83] 


3[ean Carroll 

pose there’s any varmints that would hurt you ’thout 
it was two-legged ones, for the wolves are too cow- 
ardly and the ‘panters’ are gettin’ scarce. And, 
from the way they said you held them timbers at 
the 'razin’/ it looks like you might pull a ‘panter 
clean in two, anyway.” 

"That wasn’t much, uncle. I didn’t hold it but a 
short time.” 

"You held it long enough to show them that you 
could, and to make a fellow I know turn green with 
envy. I look for Bud to get even with you; he 
thinks he’s the strong man of the county.” 

"Well, he may still have that honor. I don’t 
want to steal Bud’s honors away from him.” 

"Well, Bud’s feelin’ blue, and he always tries to 
git even when things go against him. I see the 
Bald-knobbers are stirring a good deal lately. I 
look for them to break out soon.” 

"What makes you think so?” 

"Because I see them ridin’ round through the 
woods so much. I’m usually huntin’ and creepin’ 
about lookin’ for game, and I see ’em very often 
’thout bein’ seen. I think they must have a meetin’ 
place somewheres round here. I might find it, but 
I’m with them like I am with the moonshiners, I 
don’t want to know too much about ’em. But if I 
was you, Jean, I’d be careful an’ not get in Bud 
Jones’s way.” 

Jean rode home an hour later thinking of the 
olcl man’s words and wondering if there might be 
more in them than had been spoken. He decided to 

[84] 


31ean Carton 

go back by Chris Ming’s and tell him what he had 
heard. 

On the way he passed near Dead Man’s Cave and 
decided to examine it again. Here he found that 
what had formerly been a hole only large enough 
for one to enter, was now six or more feet in 
diameter. It dropped straight down for many feet 
to a shelf of earth, and from thence in a sloping 
direction back under a ledge of stone and disap- 
peared in the darkness. 

When near the Ming farm, Jean met Chris in 
the road, who at once called: “Why, hello, Jean, 
I’ve been wantin’ to see you.” 

“All right, Chris; what is it?” Jean replied. 

“Jean, you know me well enough to know I’m 
your friend,” and his tones expressed more than his 
words. 

“Yes, certainly,” Jean answered wonderingly. 

“Well, I’ve got to ask you to do something that 
may seem very strange to you, and yet I can’t ex- 
plain to you why I do it.” 

“That is all right, Chris. I’ll not question your 
good will, no matter what you ask me.” 

“I’m glad to hear it, my boy; your assurance 
makes my task much easier. What I wanted to say 
was this: Don’t visit my house any more for the 
present.” 

“Don’t visit at your house! Why, Chris, what 
have I done?” Jean cried in amazement. 

Chris laid his hand on that of his young friend 
as he replied: “My friend, you don’t know how it 

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3[eatt Carroll 

hurts me to make this request, but it is best, and I 
cannot now tell you why.” 

“I beg your pardon, Chris, for speaking as I did. 
but I was so afraid I had offended you. I’ll do as 
you say, and you may rest assured that I will not 
feel offended. Let me know when the cause is 
removed. Now I must go; give Mollie my best 
wishes.” 

Jean rode off down the path toward home. Was 
he dreaming? This morning his grandfather had 
warned him to beware of the Bald-knobbers, Hunter 
Jack had cautioned him against Bud Jones, and now 
his best friend had asked him to keep away from 
his house without any given cause. Had he made 
some great mistake, or committed unknowingly 
some crime? There was surely a cause for such 
concerted action. 

As he rode slowly down a long shady slope, a 
young girl, riding a gray pony, came galloping 
across his path from the valley. She did not see 
Jean as she passed, but as she neared him she grace- 
fully caught a lock of loose hair from her eyes, and 
a ray from the setting sun, striking the curl, showed 
a glimpse of dark brown hair with a golden tinge. 

Jean leaned forward to speak, but she was gone, 
and he rode on alone, wondering who this fair 
young girl with the golden hair could be. In his 
young mind he conjured up a fairy wood nymph 
who roamed the twilight forest, and this fairy of 
the woods took on the form and figure of the 
strange rider and the soft blue eyes and sun-kissed 
hair of the girl of his dreams — the girl of the fire. 

[ 86 ] 


THE CELEBRATION 
































CHAPTER VIII 


THE CELEBRATION 

J ULY FOURTH dawned bright and clear and 
found most of the citizens of the bald-knob 
country on their way to the county seat where 
the following attractions were advertised to be seen 
and heard : A grand barbecue ; a street parade, one 
of the most magnificent pageants ever witnessed; 
soul-stirring music by the Silver Cornet Band ; 
speaking by men of national reputation, and a 
“bummer, bumping, bouncing, boisterous, blood- 
boiling, bugle-bursting band,” one of the most 
laughable attractions of the age; also a free-for-all 
horse race, with a one hundred-dollar cash prize for 
the winner. 

Jean saddled Red Buck early and started for 
town. Most of the other young men of the neigh- 
borhood had “company,” but since Jean could not 
go with his friend, Mollie Ming, he rode alone. As 
early as he was he found the highway crowded 
with all manner of vehicles wending their way to 
the celebration. There were the loggers’ wagons, 
drawn by the slow-moving, patient oxen and loaded 
with the logger himself, in a freshly ironed calico 
shirt which caused him a great deal of uneasiness, 
and his good wife, in her Sunday best, with the 

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31 e a n Carroll 

half dozen children seated in the bottom of the 
bed, all their faces glowing with the unusual scrub- 
bing preparatory for the trip. The more prosper- 
ous, with the double-seated carriages filled to over- 
flowing, were also there ; while occasionally a young 
man, with his “sweetheart” by his side, drove swiftly 
by in a “covered buggy,” the envy of all the other 
young folks on the road. Intermingled with these 
were the families in lumber wagons drawn by heavy 
mules, boys and girls on horseback, and occasion- 
ally some one, less fortunate, on foot; but all alike 
bound on the same mission — to see the crowd and 
enjoy the entertainment. 

When Jean reached the town the streets were al- 
ready crowded, the fathers and mothers standing in 
groups talking and shaking hands with old friends 
or kindred not seen since last celebration, while 
along the walk that formed the “square,” of which 
the courthouse was the centre, flowed a continuous 
stream of the younger generation, the older of these 
usually in pairs, a boy and a girl, jostling along, 
bumping about through the moving crowd, he car- 
rying her parasol, she her fan, and each hoping 
in their hearts that the jam would soon become so 
great that they would be pushed together until their 
swinging hands would touch, if but for a moment. 
Later in the day, tired of seeing the sights, and 
with courage gained, they would secure seats on 
some merchant’s goods box or salt barrel, or in 
some sheltered stairway, and in the security of the 
ever-changing throng, tell to each other the old, 
old story that is ever new. 

[90] 


3!ean Cattoll 

Here and there in the moving crowd was seen the 
ever-present small boy, a toy pistol in one hand, a 
box of paper caps in his pocket and a look of 
supreme pleasure in his eyes as he exploded the 
cap near some timid girl’s ear, and danced with 
joy as she screamed, half with fright, half with 
bantering timidity. 

Under the shade of the broad maples in the court 
house yard was erected the speaker’s stage. It was 
decorated with wild flowers, ferns and flags, and 
around it in a wide semicircle were seats of un- 
dressed boards. Here the mothers and smaller chil- 
dren gathered and awaited the arrival of the pa- 
rade, and the speaking. 

It was the boast of the county seat citizens that 
they always gave all they advertised, and the pa- 
rade was full, even to the “Bugle-bursting Band,” a 
number of grotesque figures, making hideous noises 
on a set of outlandish instruments, all followed by 
a swarm of hooting, yelling boys. 

After the parade the meeting was called together 
at the speaker’s stand by the Mayor of the town, 
and the Declaration of Independence read by the 
“professor” of the public school. Following this, 
a very grandiloquent oration was delivered by the 
Hon. George W. Goodman, the speaker of the day, 
and dinner was announced. There was a general 
rush for the barbecue table, where half-cooked beef 
and soggy bread were served to all alike by greasy- 
handed waiters, who found time between rush or- 
ders to carry the most savory bits to their own 
mouths. 

[91] 


3[eatt Carroll 

The dinner hour proved the most quiet of the 
day. The committee had prepared an abundance of 
meat, and all were soon supplied with both hands 
full and could only retire to some resting place 
and eat slowly, the condition of the meat making 
haste very unpleasant, if not decidedly dangerous. 

Jean strolled about among the crowds, only oc- 
casionally meeting an acquaintance. He found the 
sight of so many strange faces depressing after the 
months on the farm, and he wished himself away 
in the woods. He was in a silent mood and wished 
to be alone. A sensation of friendlessness had come 
over him, a condition he usually experienced when 
in a large crowd or among noisy people. To-day, 
more than for years before, he felt a longing for 
the woods, a desire to mingle with the wild things 
of Nature. He felt the wood’s spirit call. 

He left the crowded streets and started for the 
hills, but as he was leaving the town he came upon 
the race track, where the afternoon races would 
be run. Frank Jackson was there, walking his sad- 
dle horse, Jim, up and down the track, getting him 
ready for the contest. 

“Come over, Jean,” called Frank, “and see my 
horse.” 

Jean climbed the fence and joined Frank in ad- 
miring Jim’s good points. He was a fine claybank, 
high of head and strong of limb, with a well- 
rounded barrel and hips and thighs that denoted 
great strength. He was a noble animal, but built 
rather for a long, hard chase than for great speed 
for only a short time. 


[92] 


31 c a n Catroll 

“What do you think of him? Has he any chance 
to win?” asked Frank. 

“He’s a fine horse, Frank,” Jean replied; “a fine, 
strong horse, and would make a good winner in a 
three or five-mile race. I fear he’s too big for a 
short dash.” 

“I’m afraid he is, too ; but I do so want our side 
of the county to win, and I don’t know who’s to do 
it if Jim can’t. Why don’t you try Red Buck?” 

“Red Buck!” exclaimed Jean in surprise. “He’s 
hardly bridlewise yet, though I believe he could 
run if he’d try.” 

“Run! Of course he could run. Jean, you must 
put him on. We mustn’t let our township lose the 
race.” 

“I don’t care about the prize, Frank; but I’ll tell 
you what I will do. I’ll put Red Buck on the track 
on condition that the prize, if either of us wins, 
is given to Mrs. Grayson.” 

“Who’s Mrs. Grayson?” 

“She’s the widow of Bill Grayson who was killed 
by the Bald-knobbers last week down on Little 
North Fork. They were trying to whip him for a 
crime of which I am sure he was innocent, and 
when he fought back they killed him. I’ll tell you, 
I don’t believe in this bald-knob business.” 

“Neither do I, Jean; but I don’t say much about 
it. But I’ll accept your offer. Both will try for the 
prize, and if either is successful Mrs. Grayson and 
her family of little ones will get the benefit and our 
township will get the honor.” 

They had now reached the end of the track near- 

[93] 


3|ean Carroll 

est to town, and the two friends parted, Frank to 
further exercise his horse and Jean, in a more so- 
ciable mood since there was something to do, to 
see the race managers, get Red Buck ready and en- 
ter him on the list. 

Saddles were furnished by the committee, light 
jockey saddles, padded underneath and with a single 
girth. A rider was found in the person of “Shorty” 
Smith, a bright boy of sixteen. Shorty had spent 
the most of his life around livery barns, caring 
for and riding horses. Jean took him to the barn 
to get him acquainted with the beautiful bay. 

“Here he is, Shorty,” said Jean, leading Red 
Buck from his stall. “He’s all right; but keep an 
eye on him. He’s young.” 

“I ain’t afraid of him, Mr. Carroll, if he is 
young,” Shorty assured Jean. “That horse has 
sense, and will know when I treat him right. I’ll 
shore give them fellers a race they’ll remember.” 
And he took the bay for a walk up and down the 
track for exercise. 

The race track was different from the usual pro- 
fessional track in that it was straight, the races 
beginning at the end farthest from town and finish- 
ing near an elevation at the near end. This eleva- 
tion served as a grand stand and, as the central 
part of the hill was directly opposite the judge’s 
stand, it was the most coveted place. 

At two o’clock the band struck up a lively tune 
and began the march to the track. The march soon 
changed into a general stampede as each tried to 
pass all others on the way to the natural grand 

[94] 


3fean Carroll 

stand. Such a vast crowd of people all rushing to- 
ward one central point seemed very dangerous, but 
among these hill people the rights of others are 
highly respected, and no one was hurt. A place 
once secured was held sacred to that person, just 
as if the place had been paid for at a ticket window. 

The track was in a valley and built wide enough 
to accommodate a dozen horses abreast. On the 
side next the town was a low board fence, built to 
mark the limits of the track and to keep the 
crowds back. On the side opposite the knoll was 
the judges’ stand — two goods boxes, with a wagon 
sheet for a shade. The spectators, men, women and 
children by the hundreds, stood or sat in the blazing 
sun waiting patiently for their favorite sport to 
begin. 

There were seven horses in the line-up. They 
were Frank Jackson’s great buckskin, Jim; Red 
Buck, with his nostrils distended as if he realized 
there was something unusual to do ; Black Ben, Bud 
Jones’ horse, considered the fastest racer in the 
county; Indian Bess, an Indian pony from Cow- 
skin; Kentucky Jane, Judge Wilson’s thoroughbred ; 
and two fine-looking sorrels from the breaks of 
White River. 

The owners of the horses were all present to see 
the riders properly mounted. There were also 
horsemen there from all over the county, and they 
passed many comments upon the different horses. 
Red Buck especially drew the attention of the 
crowd as he was a new horse and yet to be tried. 

The animals mounted, the riders drew them up in 

[95] 


31 e a n Carroll 

line and the starter asked if all were ready. There 
being no negative answer, a revolver was raised in 
the air. Each rider leaned forward ready for the 
spring. Then slowly came the words, one — two — 
three, a pause, the pistol shot rang out and they 
were off. 

Indian Bess, short of body and quick of action, 
led at the first leap. All the others were close be- 
hind, except Red Buck. For an instant he failed 
to understand what was wanted, then scenting the 
race he spurned the ground as if a hated thing and 
before one-tenth of the track was covered had 
reached the haunches of the other horses. They 
were all packed close together and Shorty saw that 
to win he must pass around them. He swung his 
body to the left to guide the flying horse, there was 
a snap, a whirl, and he found himself flying through 
the air. The girth had parted. Nothing but his 
firm hold on the reins saved him from falling. The 
saddle had already hit the ground. The bay slacked 
his speed at the pull on the reins, Shorty’s toe 
touched the earth, his hand caught the flying mane, 
and before the onlookers could see what had hap- 
pened he was again astride the horse. 

The other horses were now far in the lead, but 
the race was not over. Shorty touched the horse 
with his heel, leaned far out on his neck and loos- 
ened the rein. He felt the rush of air on his fore- 
head, a cloud of dust about him which changed to 
grains of sand, then bits of dirt, then all became 
clear as Red Buck and his rider caught the lead 
horse, crowded up his side inch by inch and passed 

[96] 


31 e a n C a t r o 1 1 

under the wire a good head in the lead. Then the 
crowd went wild, and all rushed into the track to see 
the wonderful horse that could win against such 
odds. 

At the other end of the track all was quiet. Jean 
had walked down to the discarded saddle, picked it 
up and examined the girth. He found it had been 
almost severed by the cut of a knife. He faced the 
crowd with the look of an enraged beast in his eyes. 
As he held up the cut ends of the girth he said : 
“The dirty coward that cut that girth is among you. 
The guilty man knows his crime, and if he will 
meet me alone out in the woods but one of us will 
return to tell the story of the meeting.” 

No one answered a word. All knew it was a 
challenge to the death. Would the guilty man ac- 
cept? Jean turned, walked across the track and into 
the woods. The others walked slowly down to the 
judge’s stand. They hardly spoke, and then in low 
tones. They felt a great tragedy had almost been 
enacted in their midst. 

Bud Jones secured his horse and, with a number 
of his faithful followers, rode straight for home, 
where they spent the night in a drunken spree. 

Jean met an acquaintance and sent word for 
Frank to lead Red Buck back to the farm. Mollie 
Ming, returning with her parents, saw the riderless 
horse and wondered where Jean could be, but, try 
as she would, she could not ask the question. 

Jean struck into the deep forest and went on and 
on, neither knowing nor caring where he was. Old 
Watumska’s blood was uppermost and murder was 

[97] 


31 e a n Carroll 

in his soul. Only time for the stiller, slower blood 
of civilization to gain control could save him. He 
wandered over hill and valley. The sun went down 
and still he went on. The moon arose over the si- 
lent pines, but its mellow light revealed only a stony 
and fiery set face, and burning eyes. 

As the passion drove him onward, he passed the 
houses of settlers in the forest. The dogs came 
barking over the fence to slink away with drooping 
tails at the sight of his face. At last he neared the 
Johnson farm, the Dean home. Here, in the moon- 
light, Jean halted for the first time. He listened. 
There were no barking dogs, but there was a light 
at one of the upper windows. He looked up and 
beheld a vision of loveliness — a young girl leaning 
on the window sill, with her chin in her fair hands, 
was looking wistfully into the night. It was the 
face of his dreams. He glanced away to make sure 
he saw. When he looked again the face was gone 
from the window. 

Jean turned homeward. The stony cast had left 
his face, the fiery gleam had left his eye — civiliza- 
tion had again conquered. 


[98] 


THE BALD-KNOBBERS AT WORK 





CHAPTER IX 


THE BALD-KNOBBERS AT WORK 

S INCE the death of Bill Grayson, the Bald-knob- 
bers had caused but little trouble. The Ozark 
country had assumed an aspect of peace for a 
few weeks, but early in August John Goss, a school 
teacher on Cowskin, had been given fifty lashes for 
punishing a pupil in his care. In shame he quit the 
school and left the country. Goss had many friends 
who believed he only did his duty by the child, but 
they feared to speak out, and the school interests 
of the county were almost paralyzed. Teachers 
feared to punish students and the schools all went 
wild. 

Jim Manary, who claimed to be sick, was notified 
to better provide for his wife and children or he 
would be punished. Manary, with his family, left 
their squatter’s cabin between suns, all glad to es- 
cape unhurt. A man believed to be a member of the 
clan jumped Manary ’s claim. He had previously 
tried to buy the claim, but now secured it free. 

There had been a dozen other smaller punish- 
ments, such as ducking, tying up by the thumbs and 
riding on a rail, meted out by these ministers of 
justice, but none of them were near the Murray 
neighborhood. 

Quite early one morning a few days after these 
[IOI] 


3fcan Carroll 

outbreaks, Jean met Chris Ming coming from the 
store. Chris still looked troubled, and Jean, think- 
ing to cheer him up, said: “Good morning, Chris, 
you’re looking better. How are you ?” 

“I’m well, Jean, but I’ll tell you, I’m bothered all 
the time,” Chris answered. “I know you are my 
friend, and I want your advice. Will you promise 
to tell me just what you think, and promise not to 
say anything about what I say?” 

“I promise, Chris, and will speak as I think, but 
I fear I will be a poor adviser.” 

The two seated themselves on a fallen tree. After 
a long silence Chris spoke, carefully choosing his 
words. 

“I know,” he began, “my request that you do not 
visit my home seemed very strange to you, but it is 
not of that that I now speak. I am going to tell you 
all of another matter that I can without violating 
my oath. 

“Several years ago, when you were a small boy, 
this country was torn to pieces by dissensions over 
war questions, and lawless characters, taking advan- 
tage of the situation, walked rough-shod over the 
people. The lawless element was so strong that the 
country, divided as it was, could not control it, and 
no one’s life or property was safe. 

“While these conditions were at their worst, a 
good friend and good citizen came to me to see if 
I would join with him, and as many other good men 
as we could get, in a secret organization for the 
purpose of stopping the outlawry that was ruining 
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3leatt Carroll 

the land. I at first refused, and remonstrated with 
him, telling him that our acts would be unlawful, 
and that it was not best to become lawbreakers 
ourselves in order to stop outlawry. Just at this 
time old man Smiley was murdered in cold blood 
for his money, and no attempt was made to catch 
the murderers. After that I consented. This was 
the beginning of the Bald-knobbers. 

“For a number of years we did much to lessen 
crime in the Ozarks, but the membership is chang- 
ing, and many unprincipled men have gained access 
to the clan, and you know the result. It has proved 
as I feared — one wrong will not right another. 

“One of the rules of the clan is, 'Once a member 
always a member,’ and for that reason, and for no 
other, I am still a Bald-knobber. 

“As long as I thought there was hope of better- 
ing the band I attended the meetings and fought 
for just orders, and for that reason some of the 
leaders wish to see my downfall. I have asked to 
be released, but they will not release me, although 
many others have been released from active work. 
They want to hold me in their power. I am even 
accused of being a traitor and betraying their se- 
crets, and, if they did not fear the anger of their 
own men, I believe I would be punished or my life 
taken. All the while I realize that the honest mem- 
bers are dropping away and the lawless element 
gaining control, and when they do, God help the 
old guard, for they will be forced to become crimi- 
nals or suffer. 

[103] 


31 e a n Carroll 

“I have told you this long story, Jean, that you 
may understand my position, and perhaps devise 
some plan for me to follow.” 

Jean sat a long time before he said : “Chris, I can 
see but one way. An oath that binds you to do a 
wrong should not be considered. Report to the 
officials what and who this clan is and help to prose- 
cute them.” 

“That would be more than useless, Jean,” Chris 
replied. “The officials either are in sympathy with 
them or fear them. One man tried that. He was 
shot from the woods the next night. It isn’t that 
I so fear to die, but I fear for my family when I 
am gone.” 

“I guess you are right, Chris; they hold their 
power by using their united strength. I see no way 
except to do your best and wait to see what happens. 
Just wait, and cross the bridge when you come to 
it.” 

“Well, Jean, I’ve told you what I’ve told no other 
man, and if things come to the worst you will know 
how they came, and one outside the clan will know 
that I did not approve their acts, and that it was not 
my will that kept the clan going. Some of the clan 
hate you, Jean, and will injure you if they can get 
an excuse, but, come what will, I will not hurt the 
feelings of my only child by longer keeping you 
away from my home. It may not be best to come 
too often, but I will be glad for you to come occa- 
sionally.” 

“Thank you, Chris, I will be glad to come when 
I can do so without injuring you or your family. I 
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3f e a ti Carroll 

did not feel hurt at your former request; I half 
guessed the cause.” 

At this moment a horseman came rapidly up the 
road. As he passed in a run he cried : “Go to Lem 
Anderson’s; he’s shot. I’m going for the doctor.” 

Jean sprang to his feet, saying: “Let’s go, Chris, 
and help them.” 

Chris turned pale and murmured : “Jean, I cannot 
go. I know what it is. You go on and help them.” 

As Jean ran down the road toward the Anderson 
place, he glanced back. Chris still sat where he had 
left him, his head bowed and his face buried in his 
hands — a young man in years; an old man in ap- 
pearance. 

Lem Anderson lived on a small, rough farm near 
the schoolhouse; a poor man with a large family; 
strictly honest, but very nervous and excitable. A 
neighbor, Cal Clark, had quarreled with Anderson 
over a partition fence, and very bad feelings existed 
between them. During the summer Clark had lost 
some hogs and in his anger had accused Lem of 
stealing and butchering them. The Bald-knobbers 
had learned of the accusation and, as Lem was loud 
in his denunciation of them and their acts, they 
thought it a good time to teach him a lesson. 

In the dead of night a dozen masked men rode 
up to the Anderson gate, and in a disguised voice 
called for Lem to come out. 

Lem answered them from the window: “Well, 
what’s wanted?” 

“We would like to speak to you a minute,” replied 
the voice. 

[105] 


31 e a n Carroll 

“All right, come in. I’ll be at the door right 
away,” said Lem, closing the window. 

Lem came to the door, and not finding any one 
there walked on out to the gate. When he saw the 
masked men he flew into a great rage. “Hell! 
What kind of a trick is this?” he demanded. “What 
do you want? Speak it out and be off.” 

“We are looking for Cal Clark’s hogs,” came the 
answer. 

“Cal Clark’s hogs be d d, and you with them. 

I don’t know anything about his hogs. Now, get 
out of here; I don’t want to be bothered longer by 
a set of masked thieves. I’m going back to bed.” , 

“Not so fast, my little man,” called the leader. 
“Cal Clark’s hogs are in your smokehouse, and we 
are going to see them.” 

“Oh, I know who you are now,” Lem cried. 

“You’re a bunch of them d d Bald-knobbers, as 

big a set of thieves as ever went unhung, but you’ll 
get nothing or see nothing here. Polly, O Polly, 
turn Tige loose and bring my gun. I’ll show you 
cowardly curs how to interfere with an honest man. 
I know you, you cowards; at least, some of you. 
That big rascal’s Bud Jones, the biggest coward liv- 
ing, and old cross-eyes there is Jake Davis, the big- 
gest cow thief on Cowskin. You’re a nice lot to be 
looking after hogs. Polly, where’s that gun?” 

“You’ve said enough, old man. We’ve come here 
to look into your smokehouse, and we’re going to 
do it. Will you open the door?” 

“No, I’ll be d d if I will,” and Lem backed up 

to the door and barred the way. 

[106] 


3[ean Carroll 

The men consulted a moment and some were de- 
tailed to watch while the others broke their way in. 

In the house the children were crying and scream- 
ing and Polly Anderson opened the door and stepped 
out. “Oh, Lem, let them in,” she said. “You know 
there’s nothing for them to find. Let them in be- 
fore they hurt you.” 

“No, I won’t let them in. They’ve no right in 
there. They’ll walk over my dead body when they 
enter.” 

The masked men had been manoeuvring to gain 
the advantage, but failing to catch him off his guard 
one of the men was ordered to close with him. The 
detailed man walked straight up to Anderson, who 
stood with his hands behind him, telling the man 
not to touch him. The man made a grab, intending 
to encircle Lem’s arms, but one of the children had 
opened the door and Tige, at a single bound, had 
seized the masked man’s shoulder. Lem’s arm 
jerked free, and a knife gleamed in the starlight. 
“Shoot!” came the command, and two shots rang 
out. Man and dog fell to the ground, both mortally 
wounded. The masked men hurried to their horses 
and away, while the stricken family gathered at the 
wounded man’s side. 

One of the children ran to a neighbor to have a 
doctor called. The news spread and the neighbors 
gathered in. Lem did not regain consciousness, and 
died in a few hours. 

When Jean arrived Lem was dead, and nothing 
could be done except to assist in the preparation for 
burial. Friends of the family, to prove the honesty 
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31 c an Cattoll 

of the deceased, had a number of men examine the 
smokehouse. No meat, except some small pieces 
butchered months before, were found. And, fur- 
ther to establish Lem’s innocence, Cal Clark, who 
deplored the murder, acknowledged that his hogs 
had returned the evening before. 

The county coroner held an inquest the next day. 
News of the killing had spread rapidly and hun- 
dreds of men from all over the county gathered to 
hear the evidence. Only the family were used as 
witnesses. They could not identify any of the men, 
but repeated what Lem had said about Bud Jones 
and Jake Davis. The jury retired and returned in 
a few minutes with the verdict: “Lem Anderson 
came to his death from a gunshot wound inflicted 
by unknown person or persons.” 

At the jury’s verdict there was a hush in the 
room. All realized that the inquest was a farce. 
Jean arose from his seat and left the room. He 
had started to walk away when some of those, who 
were outside and could not hear, asked him about 
the evidence. 

“The evidence,” Jean replied, “says murder in 
the first degree ; the verdict says killed by unknown 
persons. I say the man who fired that shot and the 
leader who gave the order ought to be hung on the 
same tree — and would be, if the officers did their 
duty.” 

There were nods of assent, but no one voiced 
their sentiments, and Lem Anderson’s murderers 
went unscathed. 


[108] 


CONFIDENCES 








CHAPTER X 


CONFIDENCES 

T HE country store and post office was not only 
the place for the distribution of the mail, but 
for country gossip as well. And now, since 
the crops were harvested, the goods-box informa- 
tion bureau was generally well represented. 

The blacksmith, with his tanned face and cal- 
loused hands, was taking a lay-off on account of the 
heat, and a dozen or more loungers were holding 
their daily meeting on the shady side of the build- 
ing. Pleas Revis, the blacksmith, was talking. 

‘Til tell you, boys, what’s the matter. The boy’s 
right. They’ve carried this business too far. It’s 
all right to switch a man right good if he needs it, 
but when it comes to shootin’ a man down, I quit. I 
don’t want to say anything against the clan, but I 
hope the boy will keep on talking.” 

“There’s one thing they’ve found out, I reckon, 
and that is he won’t scare,” spoke up another. “He’s 
been warned two or three times, but goes on just 
as he pleases.” 

“No, Dad Wilkins, the boy won’t scare, and he’ll 
fight, too. You can see that in his eyes. I saw him 
at the Fourth when he found his girth cut and you 
could just see h — — 1 in him.” 

[mi 


3[ean Carroll 

“Talk of the devil and he’s sure to appear,” 
said the blacksmith. “There he comes now.” 

Jean Carroll was coming up the road from to- 
ward the river, and the subject was at once changed. 
Jean received his mail and stepped into the shade 
to speak to the men he knew. 

“How’s crops on the river, Jean?” one asked him. 

“Generally good. A little too much rain for corn, 
but I think it will come out all right. How are 
your crops, Dad?” 

“Only fair, only fair; but I guess it’s my fault, 
for Mr. Dean’s got the best corn I ever saw. He’s 
the man on the Johnson place, you know.” 

“Yes, I know his name, but I have never met 
him,” Jean replied. “He doesn’t go around much.” 

“No, not much; but it’s not because he’s stuck- 
up. He just keeps busy on the farm. No, he’s not 
stuck-up, and the rest of them ain’t, either. They 
are just as neighborly as they can be. When my 
old woman was sick that girl come over thar to see 
her, and would stay and cook the supper in spite of 
us, and they say they’ve got skads of money.” 

Jean turned away and started for home. He had 
learned without asking something of the Dean fam- 
ily, but he felt disappointed. Yet, if he had been 
asked, he could not have told why. On his way to 
the store he had come by the river road, but on 
his return took the longer way through the forest, 
around near the Dean farm. This road passed by 
Chris Ming’s. 

Jean found Mollie on the porch sewing. He no- 
[ 112 ] 


3lean Carroll 

ticed, as she came out to meet him, that she looked 
pale and heavy eyed. 

“I’m so glad to see you, Jean; come in and rest 
awhile,” Mollie said, as she reached the gate. 

“No, Mollie, I must go on toward home. Can’t 
you come out and walk a ways with me?” 

“Yes, I guess so. Wait till I get my bonnet.” 

When she had rejoined him Mollie said: “What 
is the matter, Jean, that you have stayed away so 
long ? Have I done anything to make you mad ?” 

“Not in the least, Mollie ; I’ve been very busy this 
season.” 

“That’s not all. I believe there’s something else 
the matter. What is it, Jean?” 

“Yes, Mollie, something is troubling me, and the 
same thing has been keeping me from seeing you, 
yet I can’t tell you what it is. But this I can tell 
you, it is not because I do not consider you my best 
friend. Yes, my only friend, and now it seems that 
I am not worthy of the friend I have.” 

“Don’t talk that way, Jean. You know you have 
lots of friends — friends all around here.” 

“Yes, perhaps,” and Jean spoke gloomily; 
“friends of a kind. Friends as long as I’m on top, 
but ready to kick me as soon as I’m down. I don’t 
want that kind of friends. I want friends that can 
sympathize with my failures and rejoice in my suc- 
cesses, that are interested in the things I am in- 
terested in, and will stand by me, up or down.” 

“Jean, I hope I am that kind of a friend to you, 
for you have always been that kind to me.” 

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3featt Carroll 

“Mollie, I believe you are just that kind of friend 
to me, and that is why I always come to you with 
my troubles. And how I’ve missed you lately.” 

“Jean, I’m so glad you think of me that way, for 
I have something to tell you. Something I couldn’t 
tell any one else. Jean, I don’t know why it is, but 
Bud Jones keeps hanging around here and talking 
to me, and, what makes it worse, father seems to 
favor him and wants me to be very nice to him. Fa- 
ther don’t seem like himself lately, and I’m afraid 
Bud has the advantage of him in some way.” 

“It may be so, Mollie, it’s not for me to say ; but 
Bud Jones is a rascal and would not stop at any- 
thing to gain his desires. He has hated me ever 
since our fight at school long ago. I don’t want to 
have trouble with him, but one thing he must do, 
he must let you alone. Tell me if he bothers you 
again.” 

“I won’t let him bother me, and I don’t know 
what father means by being so thick with him.” 

“Oh, perhaps they are connected in business. I 
wouldn’t worry over it; just keep out of his way.” 

“Now, Jean, I must go back, we’re almost to the 
Dean farm.” 

“Yes, so we are; but you needn’t hurry. It’s a 
long time till dark. I’m glad I’ve seen you to-day ; 
I always feel better when I’ve had a friendly talk 
with you. It seems there’s more to live for when 
you’ve been with friends you can trust. Do you 
see much of your new neighbors now? I have 
never met any of them but Mr. Rogers, and am 
hardly acquainted with him.” 

[i 14] 


31 e a it Carroll 

“Yes; I see them almost every day. The old 
folks are such nice people and Ula is just splendid. 
We’re almost chums now. I wish you could meet 
her. She has the sweetest, tenderest blue eyes and 
lovely brown hair, with just a shade of gold. She 
saw you at the celebration while you were listening 
to the band, but you were too ‘miffy’ to come around 
where we were. She thought she had seen you 
sometime before, but did not know where. Then 
as you turned away she said: ‘Oh, I know now,’ 
and then wouldn’t talk any more.” 

“You give a good account of Miss Dean; what 
about Mr. Rogers? Does he prove as interesting 
as his cousin?” 

“Yes; he’s very interesting, especially when he 
talks of the plants around here. You know he’s a 
botanist. I think him a very nice man.” 

“Yes, I think so, too, from what I’ve seen of 
him.” 

“If you will come to our house next Friday even- 
ing you can meet them. They’re coming over then.” 

“I don’t expect I can come, but I hope you will 
have a nice time. But, now, don’t fall in love with 
the botanist.” 

“I won’t, for I don’t think it will do any good. 
His cousin seems to take most of his time. Good- 
by, Jean, I wish you could come Friday.” 

“I wish I could, too, but suppose I can’t. Good- 
by.” 

Mollie hurried back to her home, but Jean walked 
slowly away, buried in thought. Why was it that 
Bud Jones must always come up before him? Was 
[ii5] 


31 e a ti Carroll 

Bud forcing his attentions upon Mollie through his 
hold upon her father ? He would find out and teach 
him to keep his place. 

Jean stopped and sat down on a fallen tree by the 
roadside and listened to the pines. The wind was 
rising as the sun went down, and the pines were 
speaking in angry tones. They told tales of in- 
trigues and plots, fights and broils and bloodshed. 
But the winds died down and the harsh words 
stopped and the whispering sighs told of peace and 
love and home. 

Jean was wakened from his reveries by footsteps 
on the path, and a cheery voice saying : “Good even- 
ing.” 

“Good evening, Mr. Rogers,” said Jean. “I have 
been up to the store and was stopping a moment to 
rest and listen to the pines.” 

“I wouldn’t think you’d need rest, from the repu- 
tation for strength you made at the barn raising. 
Ever since that time, Mr. Dean has expressed a de- 
sire to see you. He's a great admirer of the physi- 
cal man. He was once a football player of no 
mean ability.” 

“I hope to have the pleasure of meeting Mr. 
Dean, yet I trust I will prove interesting in other 
ways than mere physical strength.” 

“I beg your pardon, if my words conveyed that 
meaning. I am sure Mr. Dean would be glad for 
social reasons also. He has been very busy this 
summer, and has not met many of his neighbors. 
We hope to have more time to be neighborly, now 
that the crops are done.” 

[ 1 16] 


31 e a n Car toll 

“Is Mr. Dean pleased with our country? Some- 
times newcomers get shocked at our ways and 
leave.” 

“Mr. Dean is highly pleased, and especially with 
the open-heartedness of the people. It is gratifying 
to meet an open-hearted welcome to a friend’s house 
after the artificiality of modern society. Well, here 
our paths part. Call and meet Mr. Dean and fam- 
ily when you can.” 

“I will be pleased to do so, and will be glad to 
have you call at my home.” 

“I shall be pleased to do so. Good night.” 

“Good night,” answered Jean, and entered the 
forest. And this was Martin Rogers, as fine a speci- 
men of intelligent manhood as one would wish to 
meet. A feeling akin to jealousy entered Jean’s 
heart as he remembered Mollie’s words about 
Rogers’ time being taken up by his Cousin Ula. 


[117] 




















THE PICNIC 






CHAPTER XI 


THE PICNIC 

T HE busy farming season was over in the 
Ozarks, and the young people were prepar- 
ing for their annual picnic on Swan Creek. 
Frank Jackson had been chosen manager of the 
picnic for the year, and he, with Sam Miller and the 
other young men of the neighborhood, had spent all 
their spare time for weeks arranging details. Their 
plans contemplated a five-mile row up the river to 
Greer’s Spring, with dinner at noon, supper in the 
evening and a float down the river by moonlight. 

All the young people for miles around were in- 
vited, as well as a few of the more lively married 
couples, who would act as chaperons. Games, fish- 
ing along the banks of the stream and flower-gath- 
ering in the forest were among the amusements 
promised. For years the young people had held a 
picnic each autumn, and these annual holidays were 
looked forward to with great anticipation. 

The morning of the day of the picnic dawned 
! foggy and cool, but with the rising sun the fog set- 
tled to the earth and disappeared, and they all felt 
assured the day would be fair. By eight o’clock 
[ 121 ] 


3fean Carroll 

the groups had begun to gather at Denny’s old mill 
for the start and within an hour’s time the bank of 
the stream was lined with happy young people. 

Partners for the row up-stream were chosen by 
lot. Each lady placed her name in a hat and the 
gentlemen drew for partners. There being more 
boys than girls, some blank slips were put with the 
names, to give all a chance. 

Bud Jones had charge of the drawing, and when 
the names were all in called to Frank Jackson to 
have the boys begin drawing. 

“All right,” called Frank, “but wait a minute 
and let’s see if all are here. We want to give all 
the boys and girls a fair chance.” 

Ula Dean went over to where Mollie Ming was 
talking to Martin Rogers and whispered to her. 

“Oh, Frank,” cried Mollie, “Jean Carroll is not 
here. We mustn’t start without him.” 

“He can’t start until about ten o’clock,” said Bert 
Hawley. “I saw him as I came by. There’s some 
traders there, and he could not leave his grandfa- 
ther. He said for us not to wait for him.” 

“Oh, that’s too bad,” came from a number of 
places. “Let’s wait for him,” suggested one. 

“Why should we spoil our fun for one cry-baby,” 
said Bud Jones. “If he can’t leave his grandfather, 
let him stay at home. Come on, boys, and take 
your chance.” 

All were anxious to get started and the drawing 
began. As the names were drawn out, the winners 
hurried away to find their partners among the chat- 
tering, laughing girls and women. Those who drew 
[122] 


3fean Carroll 

blanks gathered together into a “Bachelor’s party,” 
and rowed up the river, laughing and shouting and 
enjoying themselves as well as many of the others. 

Martin Rogers drew Mollie Ming’s name and 
both seemed well pleased as they boarded his pretty 
new canoe and paddled slowly away together. 

Bud Jones was the last to draw, and found Ula 
Dean as his partner, although Sam Miller, who was 
the last one before Bud to draw, assured his friends 
that Bud had held out Ula’s name for himself, as 
the slip he secured was the last in the hat. Sam 
drew a blank, and paddled off with the bachelor 
crowd. 

When the picnic ground was reached all gathered 
on the grassy bank under the shade of some fine old 
sugar maples. Here Frank announced the hour for 
dinner, supper and the start for home, and told them 
all to go enjoy themselves. 

The married men wandered away to fish for bass 
in the spring stream. Some of the younger boys 
and girls formed exploring parties to climb the 
cliffs and bluffs near the river’s bank, while others 
went in search of autumn flowers in the near-by 
woods and valleys. 

The married ladies went about the preparation of 
dinner. They were busily engaged in this work 
when Jean rowed up the stream with a strong, 
steady stroke and pulled his canoe upon the bank. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Ming. Good morning, 
Mrs. Hartley, and the rest of the ladies,” Jean ad- 
dressed them. “This is a fine day for an outing.” 

“Oh, so fine!” said Mrs. Hartley. “It was too 
[123] 


3! c a n Cattoll 

bad you could not make the trip up with us. It was 
great fun.” 

“I feel sure it was a fine trip, but if I had been 
there I might have disappointed some one by beat- 
ing them out of their partner. There were some 
blanks in the lottery for partners, I know. I only 
came up on a blank. I hope that in drawing for a 
partner for life I won’t be so unfortunate.” 

“You will if you don’t keep around where the 
drawing is going on, and that place at this moment, 
I guess, lies up that valley, for that is the way the 
young people went,” Mrs. Miller said, laughingly. + 

“All right, I suppose that is a hint for me to go, 
so I will see if I can find them.” 

The women all denied that they wished to get rid 
of him, but Jean left in the direction the others had 
taken. 

“What a splendid-looking young man,” said Mrs. 
Hartley. “Doesn’t he look strong and sturdy, and 
he has such a pleasant face and kind eyes.” 

“His face looks kind enough, Mrs. Hartley, when 
he’s in a good humor,” replied Mrs. Johnson; “but 
they say he has an awful temper. I saw him once 
when he was mad and his countenance was fright- 
ful. It was on the Fourth, after the races. He then 
looked more like some great, angry beast than a 
man.” 

Jean followed the valley for some distance, then 
climbed up the south side to the level pine lands, the 
borders of the great Irish Wilderness. He struck a 
trail leading toward the woods and followed it for 
more than a mile. He had halted to listen for 
[124] 


3fean Carroll 

some of the party, when a fawn, still carrying the 
spots of youth, came leaping along a cross trail. 
Jean stopped to watch it. The young deer passed 
within a few yards of him and was almost out of 
sight when a long, lithe, brown body shot through 
the air from an overhanging tree and crushed the 
fawn to the earth. 

The struggle was brief. The huge panther, the 
dread of the Ozark hunter, caught the fawn by the 
throat, and after a hard shake raised the still quiv- 
ering body from the earth and started off for the 
denser forest. 

Jean had no gun, but he determined to find where 
the beast lived, and surmising that the fawn was 
being carried to its young, followed stealthily after 
it. The chase was a long one, but ended at last 
when the panther, after a careful survey, entered 
a cave in the slope on the Western side of Granny 
Moon’s knob. 

Jean noted the exact location of the cave, then 
turned back toward the picnic grounds. Looking 
at the sun he found it was long past noon. Well, 
thought he, I’ve missed the picnic dinner, but I’ve 
found the den of that plague of our sheep and 
calves. 

Bud Jones had joined the group of flower seek- 
ers on arriving at the picnic grounds, and all 
through the tramp in the woods managed to keep 
close to Ula Dean’s side, all the time trying to in- 
terest her in his affairs. Ula was kind to him and 
Bud imagined he was making great headway when 
dinner was announced. 

[125] 


3[ean Carroll 

All had gathered around the tempting spread 
when Minnie McFadden asked: “Hasn’t Jean come 
yet? He should have been here an hour ago.” 

“He did come,” answered Mrs. Ming. “That’s 
his canoe. He went to the woods to look for your 
party.” 

“Well, what could have happened to keep him out 
so long?” said Ula Dean. “He couldn’t be lost, for I 
understand he is a good woodsman.” 

Bud Jones, who was sitting by Ula’s side, spoke 
up in a jeering tone : “You needn’t worry about him. 
He’s probably off enjoying himself alone, eating 
raw meat like his heathen granddad.” 

Ula’s face reddened with anger and shame. She 
opened her mouth to defend the absent one when 
Mollie Ming took up the gauntlet. 

“He may eat raw meat, Bud Jones, but he 
wouldn’t strike a man behind his back,” she said. 

Bert Hawley, who was down at the end of the 
table, spoke up in his loud, droll voice : “I’d rather 
have a heathen granddad than be a heathen my- 
self.” Then he broke out in a loud haw-haw at 
his own joke, the younger boys joining in. 

Bud’s face turned pale with anger as he said: 
“Miss Ming, what are you and Bert Hawley getting 
mad about; are you the young Indian’s champions? 
And is Bert mad because a savage and a monkey 
for a granddad is so much alike?” 

“Yes, Bud Jones, I am Jean’s champion,” Mollie 
replied, “and the champion of any other friend who 
is maligned in his absence.” 

[126] 



"Oh, Mr. Carroll, how glad I am to see you,” she cried. “I 

thought I was lost.” 

(Jean Carroll.) — P. 127 . 




3[eatt CatroU 

‘‘Well, then, you had better keep him at home 
more. He’s been seen roaming the woods at some 
very strange hours,” Bud retorted. 

“I’d like to know what those who saw him were 
doing?” Mollie flashed back at him. 

At the retort there was a general laugh and the 
quarrel was further stopped by Bert Hawley, who 
came over to Bud’s side of the table, with a puzzled 
look on his face, and said: “Bud Jones, did you 
mean me when you spoke of a monkey for a grand- 
dad? If you did I’ll make you eat it.” 

Bert’s comical appearance caused a laugh all 
around, and he retired to his place beside his sweet- 
heart, Cora Bain, who whispered a word to him 
that cleared the cloud from his brow and he joined 
in the laugh with the others. 

As a part of the programme for the afternoon a 
number of the girls had arranged for a hunt for 
some rare ferns which were supposed to grow in 
the adjoining forest. Bud Jones had planned a 
canoe ride up to the spring. He expected Ula to 
go along, but she took the opportunity to escape his 
company, and joined the flower hunters. There 
were six in the party, and they were soon deep in 
the forest in search of the coveted plants. 

“Girls,” said Mollie Ming, “we don’t see enough 
of the ground this way. We ought to spread out, 
and if any of us find the ferns we can call the oth- 
ers.” The party then spread out fan-shape, Mollie 
Ming on the left and Ula Dean on the right, and 
all advanced into the forest. 

[127] 


3f c a n Carroll 

Ula had never before been alone in the depths of 
a great pine forest, and there soon came over her a 
feeling of awe and admiration. She walked on al- 
most entranced. She fancied herself in a vast ca- 
thedral, carpeted with a soft-brown cloth and ceiled 
with a canopy of green, while the huge trunks 
served as columns which formed long aisles in which 
countless thousands might worship. 

She passed over a low bank into a very shallow 
valley. Here she found a bunch of the coveted 
ferns, but there being only a few she would not call 
the others, but gathered them herself. When the 
ferns were gathered, she looked about, but none of 
the other girls were in sight. She looked again, 
and as far as vision extended stood the great trees, 
rearing their whispering heads a hundred feet from 
the earth. The solitude almost frightened her. She 
felt that at any moment some great God of the for- 
est might walk out before her and inquire why she 
had intruded into his solitary haunts. She stopped, 
she knew not how long, then, remembering she was 
alone, turned and hurried to the left, where the 
other girls had last been seen. She walked on and 
on, and not finding her friends as she expected, 
turned again, this time to the right, and went un- 
knowingly straight into the forest. 

While Ula was gathering the ferns the other girls 
had moved on. After several minutes one of those 
on the left discovered some ferns and all rushed to 
her. When the ferns had been gathered and Ula 
did not join them, they called, but received no an- 
swer. 


[128] 


31 e a it Carroll 

“She is away to the right, girls; we must hurry 
on that way and find her,” said Minnie McFadden. 
The girls kept searching for Ula and calling her, 
and at last, not finding her, became frightened and 
hurried back to the river to get the boys to help. 

In the meantime Ula had become thoroughly lost. 
She heard the call of the girls, but thought it the 
boys at camp, and pushed on into the forest. She 
traveled more than a mile before realizing she was 
not nearing the picnic grounds. She stopped short, 
brushed back a curl from her eyes and leaned 
against the trunk of a big pine to rest and decide 
what course to pursue. 

As Ula stood there, the cluster of beautiful ferns 
in her arms, her golden-brown hair unloosed from 
its fastenings and her pure blue eyes gazing around 
her in wonder, she might have been taken for some 
wood-nymph preparing to call her vassals about her. 
She had just stepped away from the tree to call for 
help when her eyes fell on Jean, hat in hand, not a 
dozen steps away. 

“Oh, Mr. Carroll, how glad I am to see you,” she 
cried. “I thought I was lost. I believe this is Mr. 
Carroll.” 

“Yes,” replied Jean, “and I believe you are Miss 
Dean. How you have grown. You were only a lit- 
tle girl then. And your hair is darker, but your 
eyes are the same.” 

“You have grown, too; but how came you here?” 

“I have been a long way out in the woods and 
was on my way back. I might ask you the same 
question.” 

[129] 


3feart Carroll 

“I started out with the other girls to gather ferns, 
and while gathering these and admiring the forest 
I was left behind. Can you find the way back?” 

“Oh, yes, we will find the way all right; but you 
must be tired and warm. Come and rest on this 
log.” 

At his bidding the city-bred girl sat down beside 
this almost stranger of the forest without a thought 
of why she felt so safe and secure. That night in 
her room she wondered at her actions and at Jean 
Carroll’s familiar words when they met. Why had 
she not felt offended? 

After being seated Ula said: “This is my first 
visit to the forest, Mr. Carroll. Isn’t it lovely?” 

“There’s no place like the forest to me. It’s my 
best friend. To it I tell all m}^ troubles and express 
all my hopes, and its voice always answers in sym- 
pathy. Listen to its music now, it’s singing a song 
of youth and hope, love and happiness. When you 
are sad it brings to you a song of sympathy and 
hope for the future. In the forest the preacher 
can hear the choir singing, the herder his cattle 
lowing, the hunter his foxhounds baying, and the 
maiden her lover singing, all in the music of the 
pines. Oh, I love the forest.” 

“I love it, too ; it’s so solemn and great and grand. 
I’m so glad I’ve come to live among the pines. Now 
I’m rested, shall we go?” 

“Yes, we had better go, for the others will be 
worried about you,” and he assisted her from the 
log and together, side by side, the man and the 

[130] 


3[ean Catroll 

maiden, newly met but not strangers, walked toward 
the river, each feeling they had always been friends. 

As they went down the mountain side, a ray from 
the sinking sun caressed the maiden’s hair and the 
man walking by her side wondered that the mellow 
golden tint of childhood still clung to the darkened 
tresses of womanhood, and, as in a vision, he saw 
again the golden-haired girl of the fire as the 
woman by his side. 

All was excitement over the preparations for the 
search for the lost girl as the two neared the camp, 
and great was the relief when they arrived safe and 
sound. 

There was one exception. Bud Jones’ face 
showed indignation and chagrin. When he learned 
that Ula was lost he hoped it would be his pleasure 
to find her and bring her to safety, and now for his 
hated rival to gain the honor angered him. 

Supper was soon over, the table cleared and the 
canoes gathered at the landing for the trip down- 
stream. Most of the boys had arranged for their 
partners for the homeward voyage. Jean, as he had 
come up alone expected to return the same way. He 
had nearly reached the bank to unfasten his canoe. 
Ula and some other girls were standing near, and 
Bud Jones was hurrying toward them, when Ula 
said: “Mr. Carroll, have you a partner down- 
stream ?” 

Jean answered that he had not. 

“May I ride with you? I have been left alone.” 

“Certainly, Miss Dean. I shall be happy to have 

[131] 


3|eait Carroll 

you with me. I would have invited you before, but 
feared you had accepted the company of another,” 
answered Jean gladly. 

Bud Jones asked Mollie if she had an escort, and 
on being informed that she would ride with Mr. 
Rogers, he turned away with a snarl about city 
dudes, and entered his canoe and hurried away 
ahead of the crowd. 

The autumn moon shone over the landscape as 
the long line of canoes glided down the beautiful 
stream. Each star in the sky was reflected in the 
silvery water, and along the banks the reflected trees 
and hills were displayed in fantastic forms. 

From the merry throng, the night was broken by 
lively song and peals of laughter, but Jean and the 
maiden in the bow of his canoe sat silent and still. 
The scene was too beautiful to be profaned by 
words. 

When the trip was ended, Jean handed Ula into 
her buggy. They had not spoken of the past; they 
did not speak of the future ; the present was enough. 
Jean rode home on Red Buck, seeing visions of pine 
forests haunted by beautiful maidens with dark blue 
eyes and sun-kissed golden hair, and all the world 
looked glad. 


[1321 


THE PANTHER HUNT 



















CHAPTER XII 


THE PANTHER HUNT 

O CTOBER had come with all her gorgeous col- 
oring. The maples in the valley and the 
hickories on the hillside had donned their 
golden hues. The grass on the mountain slopes 
was browning and the fields had yielded their har- 
vest. Nature was preparing for her annual rest. 

Jean Carroll had spent a very busy summer man- 
aging the farm work, gathering the harvest and 
caring for the cattle on the ranges. But the sum- 
mer’s labors were completed, the cattle no longer 
strayed away, but gathered in herds for the winter. 
At last the farmer could rest from toil. 

Jean came in from the barn one morning and 
found Jaques Murray seated on the south porch en- 
joying the morning air. He motioned Jean to his 
side. 

“Jean, my boy, you are looking tired and worried. 
Are you feeling well?” 

“Yes, grandfather; I feel well all the time.” 

“I was afraid you had worked too hard this sum- 
mer. You are strong, but not toughened to work, 
after your years in school. The summer’s work is 
over now, and I want you to take more time for rest 
and pleasure. You have not spent much time with 

[135] 


3 \ tan Carroll 

friends since your return. You must rest up and 
enjoy yourself.” 

“I don’t think I need the rest, grandfather, and 
it is enough enjoyment to be home with you and 
among our beloved hills; but I had thought of 
spending to-day in the woods. I know where a 
panther dens, and thought I would like to go and 
see if I could get a shot.” 

“A day in the woods will do you good, and I hope 
you will be able to kill the cat. They are a great 
drawback to sheep raising here. I needn’t tell 
you to use care; you know more of the woods 
now than Ido. You inherited that faculty from 
your father’s family. Who’s going with you, 
Jean?” 

“I thought I’d go by after Bert Hawley. He 
loves to hunt, and will go if he can get away.” 

“Yes; and Bert is a careful fellow. Jean, have 
you met our new neighbors, the Deans?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“I am glad you have. I met them for the first 
time yesterday. Mr. and Mrs. Dean and their 
daughter Ula and their kinsman, Mr. Rogers, called 
yesterday while you were in the field. They seem 
very nice people and are well pleased with the coun- 
try.” 

“Yes; they seem well pleased here.” 

“They invited us to visit them, Jean. I excused 
myself on account of my health, but promised them 
that you would call.” 

“I will, grandfather; I believe I’ll invite Mr. 
Rogers to hunt the cats with us to-day.” 

,[136] 


3[ e a n Catroll 

‘‘That would be friendly. He says he dearly 
loves the woods. He is a botanist, and is making 
a collection of the plant life of the Ozarks. He may 
find some rare plant in the forest. There is a great 
variety of ferns in the pine woods.” 

“Yes, I’ll invite him to go with us. An extra 
man or two in a cat hunt might prove handy. Don’t 
look for me back until late.” 

Jean shouldered his big Winchester and took the 
trail over the mountain to Bert Hawley’s home. To- 
day he was in a pensive mood, and felt that he 
would like to be alone, but he had promised Bert 
that he should go with him on the hunt. Besides, 
he had found that he was stronger when he con- 
trolled his moods, instead of letting them control 
him. The panther hunt would help him. He 
needed hard work to drive other thoughts from his 
mind, and the panther was likely to give him all 
he desired. 

Bert was at the old log barn caring for some of 
the stock, but dropped everything and started for 
his gun when he saw Jean coming. 

“Hello, Bert, are you ready for that panther 
hunt?” Jean called. 

“I’m always ready for a hunt,” Bert replied; 
“anyway, if it’s something that will show fight, and 
the cats’ll shore give us something to do.” 

“I guess they will, Bert; and if you don’t care, 
I’m going to invite Martin Rogers to go with us.” 

“That’s just the thing. He’s been wanting to go 
coon huntin’ with me some night, but this will beat 
a coon hunt clear out of the woods. I’ll get my 

[137] 


lean Cattoll 

gun and I’m ready. Must I take the dogs?” he 
asked when he had again joined Jean. 

“I don’t believe we will need them. They’ll only 
make a noise and might get cut to pieces.” 

“Well, then, I’m ready; but I believe the dogs 
would come in handy.” 

“I think not. If we had to locate the game, then 
the dogs would be all right; but we know where 
the cats are and the dogs might scare them.” 

“Jean, I wouldn’t worry too much about the crit- 
ters gettin’ scared ; the scarin’s liable to be the other 
way.” 

Jean led the way down the trail toward the Dean 
farm. They drifted into silence, Jean not caring to 
talk, and for some time he followed the narrow 
path, Bert close behind. After they had crossed the 
creek into the darkest part of the forest, Bert sud- 
denly stammered : “Jean, you’ve been to college, do 
you know how to tell when a girl’s in love?” 

At another time Jean would have laughed aloud 
at the strange, droll question, but this morning the 
moodiness of the savage was upon him, and he 
only smiled as he answered: 

“You’ve got me, Bert; I don’t believe I can solve 
that riddle. They didn’t treat of love in my school.” 

“This is no riddle, Jean. I’m in earnest.” 

“Oh, that is different; I thought it was a riddle. 
What is it you want to know? I’ll tell you if I 
can.” 

“I want to know just what I said. I’ll just tell 
you all about it. You know, Jean, how me an’ 
Cora — Cora Bain, you know — has been kinder goin’ 
[138] 


3fean CatroU 

together to meetin’s an’ parties since McFadden’s 
barn raisin’ last spring. Well, she’s been awful 
good to me, but I’m afraid she don’t love me. I’d 
give anything to find out.” 

“Have you asked her, Bert ?” 

“No; I haven’t told her anything.” 

“Well, Bert, you tell her you love her and then, 
if she loves you, you will know it. The question 
that is bothering you has bothered smarter men 
than either of us through all the ages. They want 
to know. They want to know without making the 
test. They want to know without taking the risk. 
Not only in matters of love, but in all other great 
questions. The solution to this problem marks the 
difference between the field hand and the farmer, 
the apprentice and the printer, the man and the mas- 
ter. The one wants to know; the other finds out. 
Bert, if I were you, I’d find out.” 

“I’ll do it. I’ll ask her Saturday night If she 
don’t love me now she never will. I don’t think love 
comes; it just is.” 

“Yes, Bert, it just is. How much better place the 
world would be if every one realized that,” and 
Jean walked on while his mind wandered back to 
his vision of the fire and the wood nymph of the 
forest. Love just is. 

Bert, his decision made, strode on behind his si- 
lent comrade, whistling a lively tune, little knowing 
he had in his homely language uttered one of the 
great truths of life: “Love just is.” Nature plants 
it in the human heart. It springs to life and full 
maturity when its ideal is met. 

[139] 


3Ican Carroll 

Martin Rogers met the two friends at the Dean 
gate. He gladly accepted the invitation to go with 
them to the woods. 

“Yes, I’ll be glad to go,” he said. “I’ve been 
wanting to take a hunt through the big woods, but 
being no woodsman, I did not care to go alone. Do 
you think we can find the panthers?” 

“Yes,” said Jean; “we will most likely find one, 
and perhaps more.” 

“What we want to do,” said Bert, “is to be sure 
to find them before they find us.” 

While Martin Rogers was dressing for the hunt 
Ula Dean came into the yard to speak to the boys. 

“Mr. Rogers tells me you are going into the big 
pine woods to hunt a panther,” she said. “Can’t I 
go, too?” 

“It certainly would be a pleasure to the rest of 
us,” Jean replied; “but I fear the long walk would 
be too tiresome.” 

“I’m a great walker and just love the woods. 
Would I be so much in the way?” 

“No, you won’t be at all in the way, and if you 
will go with us we will not go to the big woods, but 
will hunt closer home. There might be danger for 
you at the panther’s cave.” 

“No! no! I won’t go if you change your plans. 
I want to see the great beasts conquered. I like 
men who conquer things,” said Ula eagerly. 

“Oh, Martin,” said Ula, as Mr. Rogers came 
from the house with his gun, “I’ve been teasing Mr. 
Carroll to let me go with you. Do you suppose I 
could? I’ll try to keep out of the way.” 

[140] 


3[ e a n Carroll 

“You need not ask Mr. Rogers,” interrupted 
Jean. “We all want you to go if the trip will not 
be too hard.” 

“Thank you all. I’ll ask father.” A few min- 
utes later Ula came dancing out dressed for the 
woods, a small lunch box dangling in her hand. 

“Where’s your gun?” asked Martin. 

“I don’t need a gun; I’ll act as nurse. Here are 
my supplies for the relief of the wounded.” 

The party at once started for the woods, Jean 
leading the way, Ula and Martin Rogers follow- 
ing, with Bert’s short steps and long, swinging arms 
bringing up the rear. 

When he thought of it afterward, Jean could not 
tell how the forenoon passed. The others were 
laughing and talking along the way. He walked 
steadily on seeking the best paths, breaking the way ; 
hearing all, but seeming to hear nothing. He liked 
Martin Rogers, but to-day envied him his free man- 
ners and ready wit. Even dull, clumsy Bert was 
adding more pleasure to the party than himself. 

At noon they stopped at a little spring far up the 
mountain side and ate the lunch Ula had prepared. 
Bert added to the lunch some fine mountain huckle- 
berries, which grew near by. Jean ate but little; it 
seemed sacrilege to eat of food from such fair 
hands. Ula could scarcely eat for very happiness. 
The experiences were all new to her, and she never 
tired of the beautiful, ever-changing scenery. At 
their feet, as they ate, lay a lovely valley, narrow 
and steep near by, but ever widening until it lost 
itself in the hazy distance. 

U41] 


31 e a n Carroll 

“How beautiful,” Ula murmured. “So great and 
grand ; so pure and good. How could one do wrong 
with such surroundings?” 

“Surroundings do not make the man,” Jean re- 
plied. “They only strengthen the power for good 
or evil within him. His disposition gives this 
power its direction.” 

“Surroundings furnish opportunities,” said the 
girl, “and nature in its purity around us furnishes 
us material for good, pure thoughts — the stones 
of which character is builded.” 

Bert interrupted the conversation by saying : “It’s 
time we were going, if we don’t want to stay all 
night.” 

Jean again led the way into the woods. 

The knob was soon reached, on the side of which 
the cave was located. The party approached the 
opening as quietly as possible, but no panther was 
to be seen. 

The cave was an opening under a rocky ledge, 
slightly up the side of the hill. Near the cave a 
spring of water bubbled forth. 

“There’s nothing* in sight,” whispered Jean. “I 
suppose some of us will have to go into the den 
and see what we can find.” 

Bert was already busy making preparations by 
gathering pine knots for a torch. This he lighted 
ready for the start. 

“Can I go along, too ?” asked Ula. 

“No; I think we may find the game at home in 
there, and have some trouble with it. Mr. Rogers 
will stay out with you,” Jean replied. 

[142] 


3f e a tt Carroll 

“No, that won’t do; I’ll stay alone,” Ula inter- 
posed. “I promised not to be in the way.” 

“You won’t be in the way. Some one must stay 
out, anyway, to guard our way of retreat. His duty 
will be to kill whatever comes out and not let any- 
thing in.” 

“Jean, will you let me go in instead of Bert; I 
want to see the fighting?” Martin asked. 

“All right, if that suits you and Bert; but, re- 
member, the cave may be a mean place in which to 
fight.” 

“I’ll stay out if you want to go in,” Bert as- 
sured Martin. “I’m not hunting a panther fight 
in a dark cave. Jean, loan Miss Dean your gun. 
You can’t handle it and the light, too, and we may 
need all the arms we can get out here.” This ar- 
rangement was agreeable to all, and the two men 
entered the cave, Jean crawling ahead, Martin fol- 
lowing close behind. They soon announced to those 
outside that they had reached standing room. 

Bert placed himself near the entrance. “Now, 
Miss Ula, you watch the outside and I’ll watch the 
cave,” he said, and seated himself facing the 
hole. 

The two men in the cave advanced side by side as 
the opening became larger. The pine torch threw 
a blinding glare close around them, while the edges 
of the cave were shrouded in darkness. Jean ex- 
amined with searching eyes each nook and corner. 
He looked well to the front ; all was darkness. No, 
there was a gleam of light. There, from a large 
bowlder, showed two balls of fire. Never moving, 

[143] 


3Iean Carroll 

never quivering, the great cat waited, measuring 
the distance for a spring. 

Jean touched Martin on the shoulder and nodded 
towards the crouching brute. Martin raised his 
rifle, took careful aim and fired. A deafening re- 
port filled the cave, followed by a horrible scream as 
the great cat sprang into the air to fall down dead 
across the cavern floor. A few feet farther back, 
crouched in a niche in the wall, were found the 
young; two furry, yellow balls, with ears back and 
eyes snapping. Jean caught up the squirming, 
scratching kits and Martin the body of the dead 
mother and they started for the cave’s entrance. 

When they reached the mouth of the cave, Jean 
turned the kittens over to Bert and Martin, and be- 
gan to take off the skin of the dead panther as a 
trophy of the hunt. Martin and Bert laid down 
their guns and began fondling the young animals, 
while Ula kept her place as she had stood, gun in 
hand. The kitten Martin held tried to escape, but, 
failing in that, clawed at his arm, uttering a long, 
plaintive wail. There was an answering cry from 
a crevice in the rocks near by, and then, without 
further warning a long, lithe body shot through the 
air straight at Martin’s throat. Jean saw the spring, 
but had no time to arm himself. He had only time 
to rise and throw himself, with the old football 
tackle, straight at the flying beast. They met in 
the air, and went down together, the panther under- 
neath, but with its mighty jaws fastened in Jean’s 
shoulder. The enraged animal made a stroke with 
its strong hind claws, cutting Jean’s clothing as with 

[144] 


3[ean Carroll 

a knife. The next instant Jean’s right arm twisted 
itself around the sinewy body and pinned it fast 
beneath him. 

The attack had come like a thunder-bolt. Mar- 
tin stood almost paralyzed. Bert jumped for his 
gun, but the kitten, as he threw it aside, snapped his 
hand, and delayed him. The struggle on the ground 
was a fight to the death. Slowly Jean was pressing 
the life out of the beast, but the pain in his shoul- 
der was telling, and the great cat was straining 
every muscle to reach his bare throat, with its 
swiftly working jaws getting closer and closer 
each trial. Its hot, angry breath was stifling him. 
Then Martin Rogers, who could do nothing but 
watch, saw a change come over Jean’s face. The 
look of surprise left and a look of defiance came. 
His muscles tightened until the bones of the beast 
cracked. Then there was a shot and the jaws of 
the animal relaxed. 

Jean slowly rose, his clothing torn into shreds and 
the blood streaming from his wounded shoulder. 
Ula Dean was standing close by the animal’s head 
with Jean’s smoking rifle in her hands. 

“Oh, Jean, are you ” but she faltered. The 

man before her was a stranger. The face had lost 
its smoothness, the eyes had lost their blue. In- 
stead was the square-set jaw, the cold eye and the 
stolid expression of the savage. 

Martin sprang to his aid and Bert caught his 
arm, but he shook them off and walked down to 
the stream alone, pulled the shredded coat from his 
shoulder and washed the blood away. For a few 
[ 145 ] 


3[ean Carroll 

minutes he cleansed the wounded shoulder, then 
bathed his face and hands in the cooling- stream, 
and rising, looked away through the murmuring 
pines. When he turned to his friends he was his 
old self again. 

“Forgive me, boys, for acting rude, ,, were his 
first words. “I did not mean it. Miss Ula, I want 
to thank you for coming to my aid. That was a 
good shot.” 

“Jean Carroll,” said Martin,, “don’t ask my for- 
giveness for anything you have done or may do. I 
must first thank you for saving my life. I could 
not have held that great beast until help came.” 

“I’ve got nobody to thank or to thank me,” said 
Bert. “I just stood here like a monkey and did 
nothing, and it ought to have been my fight. I 
was left to guard the outside.” 

Jean could but laugh at Bert’s drollery as he said : 
“It seems you had good help; Miss Ula lost no 
time.” 

“Yes, I did lose time,” Ula said. “I was afraid 
I’d hit you, Mr. Carroll. Now you must have your 
shoulder dressed.” 

“All right; if Bert will skin our victims. I’m 
glad we got them, anyway.” 

Bert set about removing the skins and Ula col- 
lected the handkerchiefs of the party and made 
bandages for Jean’s shoulder, while Martin took 
the remainder of Jean’s coat and made a bag in 
which the young panthers were bundled. 

When they were all ready, Bert slung the hides 
on his back, hung the bag containing the kittens on 
[146] 


3[ e a it cartoll 

his gun barrel, and led the way off down the moun- 
tain side. Ula wanted to carry Jean’s gun, but after 
a short distance he took it from her shoulder, say- 
ing: “That’s too big a load for you. It hurts me 
worse to see you carry it than to carry it myself.” 

“It was getting heavy, Mr. Carroll,” Ula replied. 
They walked on through the woods, Jean laughing 
and talking with the others in a much lighter mood 
than on the outward journey. 

Ula spoke but few words on the homeward trip. 
The excitement and danger had left her feeling 
serious and subdued. Occasionally she glanced at 
the face of the wounded man, fearing, yet almost 
hoping, she would again see the change upon it — 
the change from the laughing face of a friend to 
the powerful visage of a maddened savage. 

Before they reached the Dean farm the sun had 
set and the moon had risen above the pines. They 
were traveling a steep ridge that led down to the 
valley road near home, when a body of horsemen 
came clattering down the valley below them. The 
leader was a large man wearing a black slouch hat. 
All the men wore black masks. 

Ula glanced at Jean and was about to ask what 
it all meant, but stopped. Over his face was creep- 
ing a shadow of the savage cast of the afternoon. 
With the passing of the horsemen the shadow dis- 
appeared. 

“A bunch of Bald-knobbers. Some poor man will 
suffer to-night for what he may or may not have 
done,” was Jean’s only comment. 

At the Dean gate Jean offered to Ula and Martin 

[147] 


3fean Carroll 

the panther skins as their share of the hunt. Mar- 
tin accepted with thanks the skin of his panther he 
had killed, but Ula refused the other, saying Jean 
must take it as a memento of his wound. Jean did 
not insist and left for home. As they went Ula 
called out : “Thank you, Mr. Carroll, for a pleasant 
day, except for one thing. I hope your shoulder 
will soon be well.” 

Jean did not reply. He wondered if that “one 
thing” was the wound in his shoulder or his passion 
after the fight. 

“Jean,” said Bert, after walking some distance in 
silence, “if Cora Bain loves me I’m going to sell 
these little ‘devils’ to a show and get money to get 
an outfit.” 


[i 4 8] 


GRANNY MOON’S COVE 










































. 


























































































































































































































































































CHAPTER XIII 


GRANNY MOON’S COVE 

I N the midst of a pine forest, miles in extent, in- 
habited, at the time of our story, only by the wild 
things of the forest, lay a fertile cove, a freak of 
Nature, a tract of bottom land surrounded by moun- 
tains on every side — a bottom without a river; a 
valley without an outlet. The cove contained about 
twenty acres, “as fine land as ever a crow flew over,” 
said Granny Moon, the first settler. This valley was 
a grass-covered vale, devoid of timber, while on 
every side the mountains, linked into a solid mass, 
were densely timbered. 

Granny Moon’s cove, as the place was called, was 
a noted spot in the Ozark country, not only from 
its peculiar formation, but from its past and pres- 
ent inhabitants. Granny Moon lived in the cove 
when the oldest inhabitant had come to the country. 
She was supposed to have been the first settler in 
the Ozarks. Her husband had been killed by the 
Indians, and if she had any children they had long 
since died, or left, never to return. In a little cabin 
on the side of the cove, near a spring which flowed 
from the side of the mountain, ran a few yards and 
sank into the earth, she lived alone. She kept no 
horse, no cow, no dog or other living thing about 


3fea» Carroll 

her, but farmed a small patch with a hoe and helped 
to eke out a scant living by “helpin’ other human 
critters into and out of this changin’ old world.” 
She was a fortune teller, a “yarb” doctor and a re- 
puted witch; her witchcraft reputation coming from 
her complete disappearance from view when she had 
once entered her cabin. 

An old hunter first discovered her invisibility 
when he knocked at her door directly after he had 
seen her enter the cabin. She did not answer and 
he pushed the door open and looked in. She was 
nowhere to be seen. He entered the room; there 
was no hiding place and no outlet. He fled to the 
hillside shaking with superstitious fear. A few mo- 
ments later she appeared in the doorway. That was 
enough for the hunter, he left for the settlements. 

When the neighbors accused her of being a witch 
she mysteriously replied: “If the busybodies don’t 
let me alone they’ll disappear, too.” 

A few years later she disappeared altogether. A 
dozen men — a smaller number were afraid to go — 
went to her cabin to look for her. Her door was 
locked on the inside. They burst in the door. The 
room was empty. They quickly left and all 
breathed freer when the mountainside was well be- 
tween them and the cabin. 

For years the cabin remained empty. Granny 
Moon’s cove, the haunted cove, as it was sometimes 
called, was the foundation of many blood-curdling 
stories of ghosts, spirits and witches. Any settler 
would ride miles out of his way to keep from pass- 
ing the place alone. 


[152] 


31 e a it Carroll 

There was great surprise when a hunter saw 
smoke drifting from the chimney of the old cabin. 
A few days later another hunter saw a man leave 
the cove, a tall man, nearly seven feet, but slim and 
ungainly. He gave the name of Murphy. When 
asked where he came from he answered: “I didn’t 
come from nowhar, and I’m not goin’ back.” He 
gave out no other information. 

To distinguish him from some Murphys in an- 
other part of the county he was dubbed “Skinny” 
Murphy. Skinny’s reputation for “secret doin’s” 
was soon no better than had been Granny Moon’s. 
Many superstitious ones believed he was old Granny 
come back in a different form. 

Skinny improved the farm by breaking out a few 
acres more land and building a strong spring house 
over the spring. He raised corn in his field, hunted 
a little, but spent hours and hours in the spring 
house, and all the while smoke curled from the 
chimney of the cabin. Smoke from witch fire, some 
said. 

Skinny’s distance from neighbors and his ques- 
tionable reputation kept visitors away from him. 
If he had visitors no one saw them come or go; 
they must have come from the world below. 

About dark, one day a few weeks after the pan- 
ther hunt, Skinny might have been seen standing 
just inside the low spring-house door, stooping half 
over to see out, his roving eyes shifting from side 
to side of the cove. He looked like some caged 
animal. 

Presently there came down from the near-by 

[153] 


3|eatt CartoU 

mountainside a man armed with a revolver and 
wearing a mask. He whispered a word to the gro- 
tesque doorkeeper and passed in. Other masked 
and armed men followed until it seemed the little 
house must be full, still they came. At last Skinny 
closed the door from the inside and barred it. 

When the first comer reached the interior of the 
spring house he seemed to be in a solid building, 
but he walked to the back and inserted his fingers 
into a crack between two boards and pulled. A rude 
door opened and he stepped into a passage that led 
into the hillside. The door swung shut behind him. 
He passed through a long, dark tunnel and out into 
an open cave. The others followed. 

The cave was well lighted by tallow candles 
placed here and there on the wall, the light reflect- 
ing from thousands of glittering particles in the 
wall and ceiling. In the centre of the cave was 
the source of the spring which flowed out through 
the spring house. It was a stream of sparkling 
water falling from the roof above. Its constant 
fall had hollowed out a circular basin in the level 
floor. This stone was about three feet in diameter, 
and hollowed out like a basin at the top — a com- 
plete fountain formed by the hand of Nature. 

At the side of the cave was a stone fireplace on 
which stood an old-fashioned copper still, used for 
distilling alcohol and whisky. A slow fire kept its 
contents at a grumbling boil. The boiling liquid in 
the weird surroundings might have been taken for 
a “witch’s pot” of old. 

In the other side of the cave the men congregated 

[ 154 ] 


3[ean Carroll 

until they numbered about twenty, among them a 
large man who seemed to be leader. When all had 
gathered, this man moved to one side and all 
the others in turn stepped up to him, raised their 
masks for an instant and were passed on. When the 
last man had passed, the leader announced that all 
were members and asked them to be seated. 

“Boys,” he began, “we are here to-night to con- 
sider certain questions. Some want to shut down 
the coffee-mill over there and go into a better 
business; a business that will make us more money 
and be much easier. What have you to say ?” 

A man toward the back of the cave rose and said : 
“Fellow clansmen, before you go into the discussion 
of this matter I wish to make a request of you. I 
know what your proposed change is, and I do not 
approve of it. It will mean trouble and detection, 
but before I go further I will state my case. For 
years I have been a faithful member of the clan. I 
was one of the men who proposed its organization. 
I attended its first meeting. I have grown old in 
the cause. I have never failed to respond to the 
clan’s demands, but now I want to quit, and ask that 
my name as an active member be dropped from the 
list.” 

The leader sprang to his feet. “Boys,” he began 
excitedly, “you hear what he says. He asks what 
is impossible. There is no use in dallying about this 
matter. The man who wants to quit is Chris Ming. 
I know what’s the matter with him. He wants to 
please that fop, Jean Carroll, our worst enemy. I 
know what he would do as soon as he was released. 

[155] 


3[ean Carrol i 

He would tell the ‘half-breed’ all about our plans, 
if he has not already told him, as I believe he has. 
We won’t listen to his application.” 

The applicant, Chris Ming, for it was no other, 
rose to his feet and there was much feeling in his 
voice as he addressed the men: “Fellow clansmen, 
I have been charged with having betrayed my trust 
and accused of wanting to betray the clan and 
blamed for being friendly with an outside man. I 
am a friend to this man; but have never, and will 
never, betray the clan’s secrets. All I ask is that I 
be dropped out and not forced to do acts I do not 
approve. I objected to the still because it was a 
violation of law, and you overruled me, saying 
whisky would only be made for members. It was 
started, and whisky is made for sale to all who will 
buy. Now you propose to go into counterfeiting, 
which means trouble. I for one will always oppose 
it. You may refuse to let me out, but my oath does 
not bind me to work except for the good of the 
community, and I will have nothing to do with it.” 

“We have had enough of this racket,” said the 
chairman. “Boys, the question is this: shall we go 
into this money-making business, all who are here 
being alike concerned. It is much safer than oper- 
ating the still, for it is troublesome getting corn in 
here. With the metal there will be no trouble. All 
who favor it say ‘aye’.” 

There was a loud chorus of “ayes,” and a distinct 
“no,” with a few followers. 

“The question is carried,” announced the chair- 
[ 156 ] 


3fean Carroll 

man. “Now, boys, the work will commence. We 
already have enough metal for the first trial, and 
Skinny’s got the molds at hand, and by the next 
meeting we will have a small fortune for every man. 

“Before we go I want to say one word,” he con- 
tinued. “There is one man in this county we must 
watch. He is working for our ruin, but we must get 
him first. That man is Jean Carroll, and the clan 
offers one hundred dollars to the one who will find 
a cause for compelling him to leave the country. 
Remember, he’s a sly and dangerous man, but we’ll 
get the d d half-breed yet.” 

“Bud Jones,” came a voice from the back of the 
crowd, “such words are unworthy to come from the 
lips of a clansman, as is the order just adopted to 
engage in counterfeiting. You refuse to let me out 
of the clan, and I refuse to abide by the clan’s or- 
ders when they order me to do what I know to be 
wrong.” 

“Chris Ming,” the leader spoke hotly, “you have 
said too much. If there’s another word or a single 
act of disobedience of the clan’s orders you will be 
tried as a traitor. Am I right, boys?” 

There was a half-hearted answer of “yes.” 

“You know what the result would be,” the leader 
continued. “Keep your oath and there'll be no 
trouble; shirk, and you take the consequences. Jim, 
where’s Skinny?” 

“He’s watching the door,” said one of the clan. 

“Go and relieve him, and send him here.” 

In a few minutes the tall, ungainly form came 

[157] 


3|eatt Carroll 

shuffling into the light, the only man present un- 
masked, his little beadlike eyes shifting from side 
to side of the cave. 

“Skinny, how’s the work progressing ?” the leader 
asked. 

“Getting along very well; but we’ll have to shut 
down if we don’t get more jugs. Everything’s 
about full.” 

“Well, bring us out one of the best, we’ll make 
room for a little more.” 

The man shambled off to the rear of the light and 
soon came back with a gallon jug. “Here’s some, 
cap, so rich you’ll have to bite it off to quit. It’s 
strictly moonshine whisky, made by moonshine, 
from red corn stolen from a moony farmer on a 
moonshiny night. It’s Skinny Murphy’s best.” 

“Good for you, Skinny. Here’s to you, and the 
rest of the boys,” and the leader took a big drink 
from the jug and passed it to another. “Now, 
Murphy, that’s good stuff, but we’re going to quit 
this business and go into something better. You 
know what I mean. We’re going to make the 
coin direct instead of making moonshine and sell- 
ing it for coin. You may finish filling the jugs, 
then set the still in the back cave and go on with 
the other work.” 

“All right, cap, I can make it ; but you’re going to 
have to handle it more careful. Moonshine whisky’s 
as good as government as soon as you get it out- 
side, but moonshine money’s always bad. It’s caused 
me to make some very sudden moves, and I don’t 
want to leave these comfortable quarters.” 

[158] 


3[eatt Cattoll 

"‘Oh, hush your croaking, Skinny. If you don’t, 
I’m going to look up your back record and report 
you.” 

“A few days after that happens, there’ll be a car- 
cass found rotting on the hillside, and it’ll be an 
uncommon big one, too,” Skinny retorted, and his 
long, bony fingers noiselessly handled a big revol- 
ver at his belt. “I’m living in the present, and ob- 
ject to any ref’rance to the past.” 

“Oh, dry up, Skinny, I was only joking. You 
make the wagon wheels for us and we’ll do the 
rest. Boys, how do you like Skinny’s best?” The 
jug had passed around and been tried by all but 
Chris Ming. He realized his danger, and wanted 
all his wits to keep clear of the pitfalls. 

“Did you hear of the panther cave?” said one of 
the men. “It must have been around here some- 
where. Do you know whar it is, Skinny?” 

“Yes. It’s just over the other side of the moun- 
tain. I heard their guns.” 

“Were they that close?” Bud asked. “What was 
Jean Carroll doing rambling around on this side?” 

“Maybe he was watching some of us,” suggested 
one. 

“I wish I could catch him at it,” declared the big 
leader, “he’d find I’d ‘bite’ deeper than the cat did. 
Rules or no rules, he’d never get a trial.” 

“He’d better never follow me home,” said a short, 
heavy-set man in a gruff voice. 

“You’d never know it,” said Bud. “The d d 

Indian can slip around like a cat and he’d have the 
government down on us to catch us one by one.” 
[ 159 ] 


3[ean Carton 

“Then why don't we go and get him out of the 
way now?” another asked. 

“I’m willing,” said Bud. “What do the rest of 
you say?” 

“Don’t do it, boys,” said Skinny. “We’ll lose 
more than we’ll gain. He’s got lots of friends. 
That young Rogers is one of them. He might 
notify the government and they’d send officers after 
us. We don’t want officers outside our county boys 
looking for us. Wait till we git an excuse and 
we’ll send him a-kitin’.” 

“All right,” said Bud, “there’s no danger here 
from the money business, for we’re goin’ to use it a 
long way off, and there’s no immediate danger from 
the ‘half-Indian,’ unless some one tells, and if they 
do, we’ll eat their heart at the next meeting,” and 
he looked menacingly at Chris. 

“That’s right,” answered several others. The 
liquor had begun to tell, and they were soon all talk- 
ing, the noise getting louder and more boisterous. 

After a while Bud called for order. “Now, boys, 
we’re going home. Go out one at a time, go straight 
to your horses and ride straight home. If any one 
follows, see that he never tells. Meet here again 
at the regular time.” 

One by one the masked men stooped into the 
dark entrance and passed into the spring house, 
where Skinny let them out. 

Chris started among the first, but Bud stopped 
him, and the two passed out together. 

When they had mounted, Bud said: “Chris, I 
don’t want to be hard on you, but have to seem so 
[160] 


3Iean Catroll 

to please the other boys. They are afraid of you 
and I must not seem to trust you. Chris, you know 
how I love Mollie, and if she was my wife the boys 
would feel satisfied. Then I could get you re- 
leased.” 

“But Mollie’s her own mistress. I can’t give her 
to you or to any one else.” 

“You mean you won’t try, Chris Ming. I’m go- 
ing to have her for a wife. If I don’t, you will pay 
the penalty.” 

“Bud Jones, you may do what you will to me, I 
won’t sell my daughter. No ; not to save my worth- 
less life.” 

“It’s not your worthless life you’d be saving. It’s 
your honor and her honor. Oh! does that appeal 
to you? Well, you needn’t answer now. Just be 
at the next meeting.” 

They parted, Chris to go home to a sleepless 
night. 


[161] 








MOLLIE IS ENGAGED 



CHAPTER XIV 


MOLLIE IS ENGAGED 

J EAN’S wounded shoulder soon healed. The 
teeth of the beast had only made sharp cuts 
into the flesh. The shoulder was not badly 
torn or bruised, and within a fortnight every vestige 
of the toothmarks had disappeared. 

Jaques Murray was ill, and for several days Jean 
had been kept at home. It was fine hunting weather, 
but he remained close to the house and attended his 
aged relative’s every want. Three weeks after the 
panther hunt had elapsed before the grandfather 
could go as far as the sunny porch. After he had 
been helped to his easy-chair he said : “J ean, I feel 
much better this morning, and while you can leave 
you had better go out into the ranges and see if 
the cattle get plenty of good grass.” 

“All right, grandfather, I’ll go now,” and Jean 
shouldered his rifle and started for the cattle 
ranges. 

He took the road that led by the Ming home. 
Here he found that Mollie had taken the bucket and 
gone to the spring for water and hurried away after 
her. 

At the spring he found her sitting on the grassy 

[165] 


3fean Carroll 

bank of the stream with a far-away look in her eyes 
as she twisted into cornucopias some golden autumn 
leaves. She did not know of Jean’s presence until 
he said: “A penny for your thoughts, Mollie.” 

Mollie sprang to her feet, blushed and stam- 
mered: “Oh, Jean, you almost frightened me, it’s 
been so long since I saw you.” 

“I would have been over sooner,” answered Jean, 
“but grandfather has been sick, and I was kept at 
home. Why do you never come over to see grand- 
father?” 

“It seems I haven’t time any more — I have so 
much to do. Mother is not strong now, and father 
has to be away so much, looking after the cattle, 
and he don’t like for me to go away from home 
alone any more.” 

“Well, we’re together now, and I suppose we can 
visit to make up for lost time,” said Jean, as he and 
Mollie found seats on the grassy slope. “Have you 
seen Bud Jones about lately?” 

“I haven’t seen him for some time, still I believe 
he is causing father trouble. The other day, when 
some one spoke Bud’s name I could see that it hurt 
father to think of him.” 

“Mollie,” said Jean, and the smile left his face, 
“I’ll tell you what must be done. Bud Jones and 
his crowd of bullies must be stopped or the country 
will be ruined.” 

“Well, Jean, you’re just the man to stop them. 
You ought to have no trouble with a few Bald-knob- 
bers; a man who can, empty-handed, whip a pan- 
ther.” 


im. 


3|ean Carroll 

‘‘Who told you about that?” 

“Mr. Rogers came over a day or two after the 
hunt and told me all about it. He thinks you’re a 
great fellow. He just bragged about you until I 
felt squeamish; but wasn’t it plucky of Ula to shoot 
the panther ?” 

“Yes, and I’m very thankful, for she saved me a 
hard tussle, if not my life; but I don’t think Martin 
did fair by telling you first.” 

“Well, he told me, and I couldn’t help it,” and 
after a moment’s hesitation added : “Say, Jean, I’ve 
something to tell you, if you’ll promise not to tell 
any one.” 

“Why, Mollie, what is it that requires such a 
promise? Surely you can trust me with your se- 
cret.” 

“Well, Jean, what I am going to tell you is just so 
awfully good. I’m engaged!” 

“Who to, Mollie? It’s not Bud Jones, is it?” 

“Oh, no,” cried Mollie, “not to him. But can’t 
you guess who? One of the nicest men. No? It’s 
Martin Rogers.” 

“Martin Rogers! Oh, Mollie, that’s good,” and 
Jean extended his heartiest congratulations. 

The conversation continued for some time, but it 
seemed Jean could not collect his thoughts, and he 
excused himself to go in search of the cattle. 

As they parted Mollie said : “Jean, you ought to 
love some one. It’s so — I can’t tell what — to be in 
love and to know you are loved. Why don’t you 
love Martin’s cousin, Ula ? She’s such a nice, sweet 
girl. I’m sure she would love you if you’d let her, 

[167] 


31 e a n Carroll 

and I don’t want her to go with that braggart, Bud 
Jones. He was over to see her last Sunday.” 

But Jean’s only answer was : ‘‘I guess such things 
are not for me, Mollie.” 

Jean strode away into the woods deep in thought, 
his brain in a whirl, forgetting the ranges, forget- 
ting the cattle. One thought was uppermost in his 
mind, and that was that Martin Rogers loved Mol- 
lie Ming and did not love Ula Dean. Could it be 
possible that Ula could some day love him, Jean 
Carroll? No; such a thought was too sacred to be 
entertained. He stopped, then repeated to himself : 
“I love Ula Dean.” He knew it now ; knew that he 
loved her so well that he preferred her happiness to 
his own. And now the thought came to him that 
maybe she loved Martin Rogers and would be un- 
happy, or, worst thought of all, she might love Bud 
Jones. 

After a long walk he stopped in a grove of pines 
and seated on a grassy knoll he listened for the cat- 
tle bells, but heard instead the music of the pines, 
the chorus overhead, and the music was different 
from the songs the pines had sung on former days. 
He could still hear the birds singing, the cattle low- 
ing, the fox-hounds running, but above all, and 
sweeter than all was the song of love — the sweetest 
music ever heard. There in the great forest, sur- 
rounded by Nature in her purity, he sat, a dreamer, 
and dreamed his first dream of love, and in his 
dreams he knew he had always loved Ula Dean. 
Had loved her before the canoeing party ; had loved 
her before the meeting in the moonlight; had loved 
ties: 



There in the great forest surrounded by nature in her 
beauty, he sat, a dreamer, and dreamed his first dream 
of love. 


(Jean Carroll.) — P. 168 . 
















































































3[ e a n Carroll 

her before that glimpse of clear blue eyes and sun- 
kissed golden hair. Then, drifting into the beliefs 
of his savage ancestors, he knew he had loved her 
in other ages and other forms since time began, and 
he knew he would love her, must love her, so long 
as time lasted. She was his ideal, his affinity, his 
other self, his love. 

He awoke from his dream. He could hear the 
cattle bells in the valley below. He started toward 
them, a new spring in his step, a new light in his 
eyes, a new purpose in his life. He loved, and with 
that love his life was full, his nature was complete. 

Jean found the cattle fat upon the ranges and 
turned his steps homeward to find the horses had 
escaped from the pasture. Some one had purposely 
torn down the fence. It was far into the night when 
the last of them had been returned. 

He came into the house and ate a cold supper, 
tired in body and mind, but he had decided on his 
course. Ula Dean’s happiness should be more to 
him than his own. Bud Jones deserved to be pun- 
ished for his acts, but he should be spared until sure 
Ula did not care for him. 


[i6 9 ] 






THE BIG SNOW 






CHAPTER XV 


THE BIG SNOW 

T HE snow came down ; first in large flakes with 
long intervals between, then smaller and 
more often, then settled down into a steady 
snowfall ; the first of the season. The level meadow 
lands became glistening plains, the pine-covered 
hill-lands fantastic mountains ; all the landscape pre- 
sented a picture of purity and sublimity. 

It was the middle of December, and for three 
days the snow fell without ceasing. The roads be- 
came blocked by snow, and later rendered impassa- 
ble and useless by the bending trees. For the time, 
all travel in the Ozark country was stopped. In 
after years time was often reckoned from the win- 
ter of the big snow. 

Jean was ready for the big storm, and resigned 
himself to the confinement. Since the panther hunt 
he had spent his spare time in tanning and dress- 
ing the skin of the panther Ula had killed. Now 
that all outside work was suspended, he spent the 
whole day preparing the beautiful coat of fur for a 
rug. With the patience inherited from his savage 
ancestors, and the knowledge handed by them from 
generation to generation, he had made of it a thing 
of beauty. The inner surface was a velvety white ; 

[173] 


3f e an Carroll 

the rich brown coat was polished and smoothed un- 
til it shone like the coat of a living animal. 

From the first Jean had intended the rug as a 
present. He would give it to Ula Dean as a trophy 
of the hunt and a Christmas present from a friend. 

At last the rug was completed, at least so far as 
dressing and polishing could go, but the snow still 
fell, and Jean determined to add to the value of the 
rug as a present by staining Ula’s name upon the 
fur. Dyes were made from the bark of trees and 
shrubs, and on the inner fur the name was painted ; 
painted so that it left no mark on the inner skin, 
but reflected the letters on the glossy coat, a darker 
shadow on a golden ground. The rug was finished 
and laid by for Christmas day. 

During the whole time the snow had been falling 
the weather had remained warm, and after three 
days, when all the earth was wrapped deep in the 
snowy sheen, rain began to fall. All night long the 
patter of the rain was heard. When the morning 
came the snow was gone, but the whole bottom 
seemed a raging sea, and the rain was still pouring 
down. 

While at breakfast Jean was called to the door by 
Frank Jackson: “Jean, can you go with me to Big 
Island? The Widow Parnell is surrounded by 
water, which has already reached the cabin and is 
rising higher all the time.” 

“Yes, Frank,” Jean quickly answered. “Hadn’t 
I better get some ropes? I’ll go to the barn for 
them,” and getting the ropes they hurried away. 

Big Island was a point on the river where at high 

[ 174 ] 


3Iean Catroll 

water the stream divided, cutting off the “island,” 
which stood several feet above all known floods. 
On this island was a cabin and a few acres of 
cleared land; a squatter’s cabin to be occupied by 
the first one finding it empty. The Widow Parnell 
had occupied the place the past summer. 

When Jean and Frank arrived they found an 
ever-increasing crowd gathered on their side of the 
river, while a like crowd could be seen on the oppo- 
site bank, all trying to devise some plan to rescue 
the threatened family. The water was still rising, 
and had now reached the door sill, and the fright- 
ened woman and little daughter were screaming 
with terror. 

There was one canoe at hand, but as yet no one 
had dared attempt the rescue. Jean studied the 
stream closely for a few minutes, and then began 
preparing the ropes. 

“Boys,” he said, addressing the crowd, “if one of 
you will go with me we will try it. We’ll tie the 
rope to the stern of the boat, and if we fail you who 
are here can pull us out. Who will go ?” 

None came forward for a moment, then Bud 
Jones volunteered, and the two men took their 
places, Bud tying the rope to the boat before getting 
in. Bud pushed into the stream with an air of 
bravado, Jean with a determined face; neither spoke 
as each bent his shoulders to their work. The boat 
shot into the stream and the fight began. 

Slowly they fought their way up the side of the. 
turbulent stream, then began to slowly pull their 
way out into the current, the men on the bank pay- 

[175] 


3[ean Carroll 

ing out the rope as the boat proceeded. Suddenly 
a large tree tumbled into the river above them, was 
caught by the current and sent rolling over and 
over toward the struggling boat. 

Jean motioned for the men on the shore to pull 
them back out of danger, but before they could act 
Bud jumped over the stern, jerked the rope, which 
was slip-knotted, loose, and was drawn by the men 
out of danger, and soon to the shore. Jean stood 
as if paralyzed for an instant, then, just as the tree 
came crashing into the frail canoe, jumped clear, 
went down, came up shaking the water from his 
eyes, and struck for the shore. By the time Bud 
had climbed the bank, Jean was at the water’s edge, 
none the worse for the adventure; but their only 
boat was gone. 

“It was too bad,” said Bud. “I saw the rope slip 
and just had time to catch it.” 

“You lie, Bud Jones,” replied Jean. “You jerked 
it loose with your own hand.” 

But started to reply, then saw Jean’s face and pre- 
tended not to hear. 

Jean came up the bank, shook himself like some 
great animal, and began to rearrange the tangled 
rope. When his friends looked at him they almost 
shuddered. His face had changed from that of a 
man to the expression of a maddened animal. The 
eyes were snapping fire, the jaws were set together, 
and every muscle was tense and quivering. He 
spoke only to Frank Jackson, his voice sounding hol- 
low and far-off. 


[176] 


3[ean Carroll 

“Frank, pay out the rope,” Jean directed, as he 
fastened it to his belt and waded into the stream. 

“Oh, Jean, you’re not going to try to swim it,” 
Frank called after him, but Jean did not answer, 
he only pushed on into the stream. The current 
buffeted him back, but his strong arms struck the 
flood blow for blow. Slowly and more slowly he 
advanced against the current as the rope dragged 
heavier and heavier. The stream was rapidly ris- 
ing, and logs and drifts constantly threatened, but 
he dodged and turned and pulled on till at last the 
cabin was reached. A hearty cheer greeted him 
from the gathered men and women on either bank 
as he drew himself wearily upon the now hidden 
island. 

He fell to work at once to rescue the imperiled 
ones. He pulled a bedstead to the door, cut it apart 
with an axe and tied the parts into a clumsy raft 
with its own cords. He next tied the straw mattress 
onto the improvised raft, mounted the woman and 
child upon it, bound them there with the bed cloth- 
ing, and gave the signal for the men on the shore 
to pull. 

Strong- men gathered the rope and soon drew 
them swiftly to safety. They were under and out 
of the water many times before they landed, both 
badly frightened, but neither seriously injured. A 
hearty shout again rang out, then all eyes were 
turned upon the rescuer. 

He stood upon the highest point of the island, 
gaining all the rest possible before the return strug- 

[177] 


3fean Carroll 

gle. Many shouted words of encouragement, but 
if he heard them above the river’s roar he did not 
reply. The cabin, on lower ground, rose, turned, 
twisted about, and then tumbling apart, floated down 
the stream. He was left standing alone, the only 
object in the raging flood. He turned his face to 
the opposite shore, where, in front of the crowd at 
the water’s edge, stood Ula Dean and Mollie Ming, 
arm in arm. They waved him encouragement. 
Those looking thought they saw the tense lines of 
his face soften as he recognized them. He made 
no reply, but turned and sprang far out into the 
stream. 

The fight for life was on again. He dodged the 
drifting logs, then dived to escape a heavy drift and 
the watchers thought him lost. He came to the 
surface far down the stream, still headed for the 
shore. He was failing in strength and was carried 
farther and farther down, but at last landed and 
climbed the low bank. 

A cheer of relief followed his safe return. Many 
had followed his course down the stream, but his 
progress was so rapid that none were just at hand 
when he landed. He raised himself up, shook the 
water from his torn clothing, then walked up the 
hill and was hidden in the forest. 

Bud Jones and his followers laughed long and 
loud at his action. “Don’t worry, boys,” said Bud, 
“he’s all right. He’s only gone off by himself 
where he’ll have good company. He don’t want to 
associate with common farmers.” 

“Bud Jones,” said old Hunter Jack, “a jackal 

[178] 


3iean Carroll 

can laugh at the lion when the lion’s gone, but it 
doesn’t become him.” 

Watumska’s spirit had done its duty, but it 
wanted and would receive no praise. The old sav- 
age spirit was on Jean. Bud Jones had played 
traitor again and the nature which said “forget and 
forgive” was down and the fighting spirit was in 
control. The influence of the great wild woods 
alone could lull it to sleep. 

Jean hated himself for his acts; hated the weak- 
ness that would not allow him to go before the 
coward and ignore his cowardice, still he could not 
turn and he spent the day in the woods, tramping 
from hill to hill, beating down the desire to seek 
his own revenge. 

At sundown he was miles from home and found 
himself on the crest of the hill overlooking the 
haunted cove. His passion was gone, his better na- 
ture controlled, and he stopped for a short rest. 

He had sat quietly for a short time when a horse- 
man rode up near him, dismounted, tied his horse 
and walked stealthily down the hill. He followed 
the man with his eyes and saw him enter the Mur- 
phy spring house. Soon another and another came, 
until a dozen had passed through the door. They 
were too far away to be recognized, but he knew 
what they were. It was a secret meeting of the 
Bald-knobbers. 

Next morning Jean was at the farm helping the 
men to repair the damages of the flood, and laugh- 
ing and talking in good spirits. 


[179] 














THE CHRISTMAS TREE 




































» 


✓ 









/ t 




% 




























CHAPTER XVI 


THE CHRISTMAS TREE 

C HRISTMAS in the Ozarks is the leading holi- 
day of the year. There is but one other, July 
Fourth. The latter is observed by spread- 
eagle speeches, noise and horse racing. Christmas 
is the time of good cheer. Everybody is glad ; 
everybody is happy; everybody gives presents, not 
because it is fashionable, but because from their 
hearts they desire to please. Nowhere is the Bible 
precept, “Peace on earth, good will toward men,” 
more closely adhered to than among the pine for- 
ests of the Ozark country. 

It was now nearing Christmas time. The floods 
had abated as suddenly as they had risen. Coming 
as they did in the winter season, the destruction of 
property was not great. All felt thankful it was 
no worse. 

The Widow Parnell had a new cabin, better than 
the old one, within forty-eight hours after her 
rescue. All the neighbors contributed to its build- 
ing or its furnishing. Furniture, bedding, provis- 
ions and housekeeping utensils were donated until 
she was better provided than ever before. She felt 
indeed that Christmas was the happiest season of 
the year. 


3feait Carroll 

Christmas this year, the year of the big snow, was 
to be observed in the usual way: by a Christmas 
tree in the big log schoolhouse on the hill. 

Frank Jackson was the leader in the movement. 
He called a meeting to arrange for the tree, plans 
were talked over and committees were appointed. 
Jim McFadden was to furnish the tree; Mollie 
Ming, with her assistants, was to decorate it; Sam 
Miller and others were to furnish the lights; and 
Martin Rogers was to select assistants to hang on 
and distribute the presents. All were enthusiastic 
in their work and the gathering promised to be an 
enjoyable one. 

School was in session, and the teacher and pupils 
were to furnish a short programme to help provide 
entertainment for the crowd, before the presents 
were distributed. The managers of the tree real- 
ized that anticipation was often more pleasant than 
possession, and so placed the distribution of the 
presents as the last part of the evening’s programme. 

To add to the gayety of the occasion, Bert Haw- 
ley had taken Jean’s advice, and he and Cora Bain 
were to be married at the tree, the first number on 
the programme. Secretly the boys had planned a 
rousing charivari for them as soon as they returned 
home. 

Christmas eve arrived cloudy and cold, with a 
touch of snow in the air. The wind whistled a 
plaintive note through the naked branches of the 
oaks and maples in the bottoms and a mournful 
dirge through the swaying pines as Jean, with his 
presents for his friends, among them the rug for 

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3f e a n Carroll 

Ula, crossed the river and passed over the hill to 
the schoolhouse. He had started early, but many 
were already there when he arrived. 

In a corner of the old schoolhouse stood the 
tree, a great spreading cedar, whose tip touched the 
rafters of the unceiled room. The tree was dec- 
orated with winding streamers of blood-red bitter- 
sweet and long festoons of glistening popcorn 
chains, while over the whole room were wreaths of 
winter ivy, mosses and mistletoe. The room was 
lighted by hundreds of tallow candles, made by the 
decorators themselves, and all over the tree, as if 
Nature had placed them there, hung golden, russet 
and red-cheeked apples. Across the tree, in large 
gilt letters, was the Christmas motto, “Peace on 
earth, good will toward men.” 

The beautiful tree, the rustic decorations and the 
wild surroundings made an impressive picture. 
Those who had been accustomed to a like sight 
each year saw its beauty and loved it, but they did 
not realize what it was they loved. To those who 
beheld it for the first time it made an impression 
never to be forgotten. 

The presents as they arrived were distributed 
over the tree to harmonize with the decorations. 
On the front of the tree were gaudily dressed dolls 
for the little girls, toy pistols, bats and balls for the 
small boys, and bright packages of candy for the 
babies, with books, toys and trinkets all over the 
tree for whom they might be, while at the back and 
in a heap on the floor were the heavier bundles for 
the older ones. 

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3[ean Cactoll 

There was none of the formality of the city tree. 
No presenting by rule for all of a class or school. 
Every gift on the tree was a free gift from a friend 
or lover, and no one would go away empty handed. 
No one but had some friend to remember them at 
this glad Christmas time, but many did not and 
never would know from whom their presents came. 

To those who have spent a part of their lives in 
the country, remote from large towns and cities, 
Christmas trees stand out as mile posts along the 
road of time. Christmas in the bald-knob country 
was indeed the leading event of the year. ’Twas 
then that enemies forgot their enmity and for the 
time were friends; separated lovers forgot their 
quarrels and met on friendly grounds, often to re- 
plight their troth. Old friendships were renewed 
and new friendships made. Christmas times were 
the beginning of many friendships and courtships 
that afterward culminated into Christmas weddings. 
At the Christmas tree the bashful boy forgot his 
bashfulness and sent to his equally bashful sweet- 
heart some token of his respect and love — a ring, a 
book or a candy heart, as his taste and his pocket- 
book might suggest. 

Jean waited and watched the laughing crowds 
gather. He had been kept at home with his grand- 
father, and had taken no part in preparing the tree, 
so found his pleasures in watching others enjoy 
themselves. 

Martin Rogers and Mollie Ming arrived, followed 
by Ula Dean and Bud Jones. It was the first time 
Bud had accompanied Ula in public. He had taken 
[i86]. 


3fcatt Carroll 

advantage of the Christmas liberties and called to 
escort her to the tree. 

Ula smiled and spoke to Jean as she passed up 
the aisle. Jean spoke to the party and tried to con- 
tinue to enjoy the gayety about him as he had be- 
fore, yet he felt the wild feeling coming over him, 
his eyes narrowing, his face hardening, but he 
fought it down. Why should he care? Wasn’t 
Ula happy? And her happiness was what he de- 
sired. The feeling of ferocity left him, but all the 
beauty had gone from the picture which the tree 
and decorations had made. 

Soon Bert Hawley and Cora Bain arrived, ac- 
companied by a crowd of laughing, talking friends. 
Cora blushed and crept closer to her big, strong 
lover as he walked up the aisle to where the waiting 
minister stood. 

The minister opened the service with a short 
prayer for those present, and especially for the two 
before him who were beginning the pathway of life 
together, then in a few simple words the ceremony 
was performed that made Bert and Cora husband 
and wife. 

During the prayer and the wedding ceremony a 
solemn stillness had spread over the crowded room. 
But solemnity could not last long with such a merry 
crowd, and it broke out louder than ever when some 
mischievous boy pitched twin rag dolls to the top of 
the tree. 

Following the wedding came the entertainment 
by the school children : songs, dialogues and recita- 
tions, with a Christmas carol at the close, all inter- 

[187] 


3[ean Carroll 

spersed by hearty hand-clapping and cheers. Then 
attention was turned to the tree and its contents. 

There was a slight hush as Martin and his help- 
ers began handing out the presents, but the noise 
continued to break out as some ludicrous present 
was passed back over the crowd to its owner, each 
one examining it and making some laughable re- 
mark as he passed it on. 

An old maid received a pair of leather spectacles, 
and increased the merriment when she threw them 
at a bunch of boys. Jasper Bass was given an imi- 
tation cob pipe made from an elm stick, full four 
inches in diameter, with a stem four feet long. 
Jasper was an inveterate smoker, and turned the 
joke by begging all the tobacco in the crowd to fill 
his pipe. A bald-headed bachelor, Joe Cameron, 
received a bottle labeled “Hair Restorer,” and on 
examination found it contained a high grade of 
perfume. After a great deal of unnecessary effort 
the twin dolls were secured and started back over 
the crowd. All were laughing and watching their 
progress, Bert and his bride with the others, until 
they saw where they were coming. The merriment 
reached the climax when the crowd saw their help- 
less expression as they received the present. 

Jean received a small package. He opened it, and 
found it to be a nicely-bound pocket Bible. On the 
fly-leaf was written: “To Jean Carroll, from his 
friend Ula.” His face softened as he placed it in 
his breast pocket. Then there was a nice hand-em- 
broidered handkerchief from Mollie and presents 
from his grandfather and other friends. 

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3[ e a n Carroll 

Bud had received a heavy pair of spurs early in 
the evening, which he displayed with much pride, 
and later a nice silk handkerchief, which, as he sup- 
posed it came from Ula Dean, pleased him very 
much. 

Ula had received a number of small presents, and 
the tree had been stripped and nearly all the pack- 
ages distributed when the bundle containing the 
rug from Jean was passed over to her. Bud reached 
out and caught it and exhibited its size to all 
around. 

“What is it?” asked some one. 

“We’ll see,” said Bud, and he began to untie the 
string. 

“Please don’t, Mr. Jones,” Ula entreated. “Let 
me have it.” 

“Oh, you are afraid to let your friends see what 
you are getting. Now, don’t try to get it. We 
must see it, mustn’t we, girls?” 

All cried “yes,” but Ula persisted : “Please, now. 
I don’t wish to have it opened here.” But Bud, 
elated at his honor in escorting the most popular 
girl in the neighborhood to the tree, thought to show 
his intimate friendship by displaying her presents 
to his friends. Failing to untie the knot, he cut the 
cord with his knife and began to unfold the wrap- 
per. Ula, blushing at his rudeness, sat back and 
turned her face away. 

Jean, sitting alone some distance behind, over- 
heard all that passed. When Bud began to remove 
the wrappings from the package those near saw 
Jean start as if to spring upon him, but he caught 
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3|ean Carroll 

himself in time, and looking straight ahead with 
eyes that saw not, walked from the room and away. 

Mollie Ming was delivering a package near the 
door. She called to him as he passed, then saw his 
face and shrank back. It was not the face of her 
friend Jean, but the hard, cold face of a savage. A 
face from which all expression had departed except 
ferocity. 

Bud unfolded the rug. He knew at once what 
it was and instinctively glanced to where Jean had 
sat. He was gone. His chance had come. He 
would make Ula blush at Jean’s present. 

“Oh, girls, look here,” Bud called; “some bash- 
ful swain has made Miss Dean a present of a cat 
hide,” and he held the beautiful skin up to view. 

Ula had not looked toward it. Bud caught the 
skin by the fore legs and displayed it to the laugh- 
ing, thoughtless throng. The outward fur shone 
like burnished gold, while in a darker tinge through 
the centre, reflected from beneath, was the faint 
outline, “Ula Dean,” the whole a piece of exquisite 
workmanship. 

One of Bud’s chums, a rough fellow from over 
on Cowskin, who courted admittance to the group 
about Bud and Ula, hollowed out: “That’s not a 
cat hide, you fool, that’s a painter skin, and a 
durned purty one at that.” 

At the words Ula turned, saw the shiny fur and, 
with a “How dare you?” snatched the rug from 
Bud’s hands, rose as she quietly folded it in her 
arms and walked over to where Martin Rogers and 
Mollie were talking. 


[190] 


3[ e a it Carroll 

“See, Martin,” she said, loud enough for all to 
hear, “what I have for a present. Isn’t it beauti- 
ful? I value it higher than anything I ever re- 
ceived before.” 

The last of the presents had been distributed and 
the three soon left the room for home. 

Bud Jones bit his lip and swore under his breath 
at the turn things had taken. He had been “mit- 
tened” before the whole crowd. The merry throng 
around him began to quietly slip away. He had lost 
his popularity with his partner. 

When all the young folks had left Bud, the fel- 
low from Cowskin reached over and slapped him on 
the shoulder, saying: “Cheer up, old boy, it’s a 
lucky lose; she’s worse than a painter herself.” 

“Oh, damn you, get out,” the big fellow growled. 

Bud and his followers left the room, mounted 
their horses and took the road for Cowskin. One 
of them asked: “Ain’t we going to the charivari, 
Bud?” and received for an answer: “Damn the 
charivari ; I’m going home.” 

Jean went from the schoolhouse to the forest with 
a bitterness in his soul. Bitterness at himself for 
not being able to control his temper better; bitter- 
ness akin to madness at Bud Jones for causing him 
such a passion, and a violent hate of almost every- 
thing that was good. He wandered on and on. 
Snow began to fall, first lightly, then faster and 
faster, until one with less knowledge of the woods 
and less natural instinct for directions, would have 
lost their way. Still he wandered on into the snow, 
the night and the forest, thinking, striving, almost 

[ I 9 I ] 


31 e a ii Carroll 

struggling to keep back the wild thoughts that 
crowded his brain. He wanted to do right. He 
wanted to be fair, yet Bud Jones and the Bald- 
knobbers kept tempting him. If it was only right, 
if he could only do it and then forget it, how he 
would like to meet Bud Jones out alone, man to 
man, and fight him till one died. No, he must 
not think of such things. He would drive these 
thoughts from his mind. He tried to think of other 
things, better things, but could not. The evil would 
not down. 

The wind was driving the chilling snow straight 
into his heated face, straight upon his unprotected- 
throat. He had not felt it until now, yet the cold 
water was creeping to the skin. He reached up to 
button his coat collar about his throat and felt the 
little Bible on his breast. He stopped, brushed the 
water from his brow and thought. Thought of the 
day that would soon dawn and the sacred things it 
signified, of Ula and of her gift, the book in which 
is written, “Forgive and ye shall be forgiven.” He 
pressed the book to his heart again. The gloom left 
his brow ; his eyes assumed their brightness. He 
turned his steps homeward. 


[192] 


JAQUES MURRAY’S DEATH 















CHAPTER XVII 


JAQUES MURRAY’S DEATH 

J AQUES MURRAY’S long life was nearing its 
close; his hour-glass was almost empty; his sun 
was setting fast. The once strong body grew 
weaker day by day, still the mind retained all its 
activities. 

For days Jean had scarcely left his bedside. While 
awake, he sat ready to supply the aged man’s every 
want. He slept on a cot close at hand, always ready, 
always willing. 

The winter was passing, yet Jean knew but little 
of what was going on in the world outside. He 
thought of his friends, Mollie Ming, Frank Jack- 
son, Sam Miller and others, and he thought of Ula 
Dean and of Bud Jones, and wondered if Bud still 
called at the Dean home. He thought as before, 
but his thoughts were softened. No more did the 
evil spirit of revenge assail him. Here, in the pres- 
ence of all-conquering death, his heart was soft- 
ened. His wild nature was subdued. 

He had not heard of Ula’s action at the Christ- 
mas tree, neither had he heard of the recent acts 
of the Bald-knobbers throughout the country. 
Friends who called were not encouraged to talk of 
outside matters. 


[195] 


3f e a it Carroll 

One day in early spring, when the grass was be- 
ginning to show green on the hillside and the blue- 
birds were building their nest in the tall gatepost, 
when all Nature was waking from its long winter’s 
sleep, Jean was called to the bedside of his aged 
relative. Jaques Murray’s eyes shone brighter and 
his spirit seemed lighter than for days before. 
There was a change in his condition. The old man 
felt it and Jean saw it. Each knew the change for 
what it was — Jaques Murray’s spirit was resting 
its weary wings for its silent flight to the great be- 
yond. 

“Jean, come here, for I will have to tell you good- 
by this morning. I am not afraid to go. Many 
things beckon me to the other side, but I am not 
longing for death; I just meet it as it comes. Meet 
it just as we must meet all the things of this life 
that are sent from the Ruler of the Universe. I 
meet it not desiring, neither flinching nor cringing, 
but with my face to the front, trying to do my duty 
now as I have done it in the past. 

“Give me a drink of water, Jean. There, that 
helps me. Jean, you have been a good boy; more 
than a son to me, for you have filled the vacant 
place in my heart for a son and the place of my 
daughter, your mother. I am not afraid to trust 
you to work out the problems of life alone, but age 
should bring wisdom, and I would that you could 
gain by my experience. A few things I have learned, 
and they stand out brighter to-day than ever before. 
One of them, Jean, is this: The pleasures of life are 
not measured by the successes we have over others, 
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3[ c a it Carroll 

but by the successes we have over ourselves. ‘Know 
thyself’ and ‘He that ruleth his spirit is greater than 
he that taketh a city,’ are the greatest and wisest 
sayings of men. 

“There is a great work to do here among these 
beautiful hills; a work which only unselfish hearts 
can achieve. A work not to be done for praise or 
worldly honor, but for love of humanity and be- 
cause duty calls. You know well what the work 
is. It is to bring order out of chaos; peace out of 
the unlawful, degrading condition of this land. I 
believe you see these conditions in the right spirit. 
You can help them if you try, but your motive must 
be pure, for the love of country and fellow man. 

“I want you to keep the old farm, Jean. All 
except the upper pasture. Give this, with the house 
upon it, to Tom for his faithful service to me. Be 
kind to the men who have so faithfully helped me 
on the farm, and give Jim his choice of the young 
horses for his willing work. 

“Through all my life I have grieved that I did 
not have a son to carry my name after me, but it 
was God’s will otherwise, and I am glad that you 
are left to care for the old place — am glad that it 
will not be divided among strangers, and I hope 
that before many years have passed you will bring 
to rule over it a mistress, and that she may bring 
to you the pleasures I have enjoyed.” 

“Grandfather,” Jean took advantage of a pause 
to say, “I want to do what you desire. Your re- 
quests as to the men will be fully carried out, but 
I do not wish to deceive you; I may never bring a 

[197] 


3fean Carroll 

mistress to the old home. Grandfather, I don’t 
want to grieve you, but the woman I love, the 
woman I have always loved, does not love me, and 
no other could I bring.” 

“I am glad you speak your heart, Jean; it shows 
me you are honest. I did not know you loved, but 
I do know enough of your nature to know your 
love will never change. I would feel better satisfied 
to know that your love was returned, but I am glad 
you will not go through life without love. Noth- 
ing purifies the heart like the burnings of true love. 
Would you mind telling me who the woman is?” 

“No, grandfather. It is Ula Dean.” 

“She is a good girl, Jean; good and true. Her 
face tells the story of her life. Her love will be 
deep. She will love but once. If she does not love 
you, Jean, we must accept God’s will. You will in- 
deed be left alone when I am gone, for you have no 
relative on your father’s side and only one, a cousin, 
my wife’s sister’s son, living, on your mother’s side, 
George Grevoise, who, as you know, has not been 
heard of for many years; in fact, since he was a 
boy. Do not forget him. He is about your age, if 
he still lives.” 

“Grandfather, I will not, and will try to find him. 
Are you not tired?” 

“Yes, Jean, lay me down to sleep. I feel my 
strength going now. Jean, be a true man, as you 
have been a true boy. Lay — me — down — to — sleep.” 

Jean laid the dear old head down upon the pillow 
and he soon fell asleep, and from the sleep of weari- 
ness passed into the sleep that knows no wakening. 
[198] 


3[ean Carroll 

The sun was shining, the flowers blooming and 
the birds singing as Jean returned from the grave- 
yard on the hill. All nature wore her brightest 
hues, yet Jean did not see them. To him, all the 
world was dark. In all the busy world he stood 
alone ; no one to care for, no one to care for him. 

He carefully complied with the last requests of 
the dying man. Tom wept for the memory of the 
kind old man when he found that he and his loved 
ones were provided with a home of their own. 

When all the business was finished, Jean turned 
for consolation to his beloved woods, a young man 
with no kindred ties, with all his life's work before 
him. At night he returned, brighter in spirits. 
There was a work for him to do. A greater work 
than working for kindred or friends. He would 
work to aid this beautiful land. 










THE STRANGER 












CHAPTER XVIII 


THE STRANGER 

I N an Eastern city, in a well-appointed office in 
one of the skyscraper office buildings, a board 
of directors was discussing the interests of 
their company. The chairman was speaking: 

“Gentlemen: As you see, our engineers report 
that our present lead of jack will last only two more 
years. After those years, unless we make further 
explorations, our valuable property will cease to 
exist and all the expensive machinery in our reduc- 
ing plant will be worth only its weight as junk. Our 
property has been a very valuable one. It has netted 
our shareholders large dividends, and the surplus 
now on hand is a snug fortune within itself. The 
property is still valuable, for we have two more 
years of profits now in sight, and why not try to 
keep this property valuable. There are two fields 
to explore. One is to seek a lower vein in the pres- 
ent mine; the other is to send some skilled man to 
find and secure some new location. I favor both 
steps at once. I want to hear from other members 
of the board.” 

A short, stolid man, conservatism written all over 
his face, took the floor. “Gentlemen,” said he, “I 
shall not oppose any measure that points toward a 
[203] 


3[ean Carroll 

widening of our company’s possibilities, yet I favor 
first a thorough prospecting of the land we now 
own, and if this fails us then look elsewhere.” 

“Mr. Chairman,” said another, “I favor investi- 
gating both propositions at once. If we take up one 
work and fail in that our plant will have to shut 
down until the other field is tried. This will be an 
enormous expense as compared with the investigat- 
ing work, so I favor the outside work as well as the 
investigation of our own property. I know just 
such a man as we need for this outside work. This 
man has made an extensive study of the mineral 
fields of Southwest Missouri. Mr. Chairman, I 
move that we call in Mr. Grevoise and get his ideas 
on the matter.” 

The motion was put and carried. 

The speaker reached for a telephone and called 
for George Grevoise. 

“Hello! is this Mr. Grevoise?” 

“This is the Consolidated Zinc and Lead Mining 
Company. Can you come to our office at once and 
meet the board of directors?” 

“We will be waiting for you. Good-by.” 

' George Grevoise entered the directors' room a 
few moments later. He was a young man, not over 
twenty-five, dark haired, dark skinned and black 
eyed, quick and intelligent. 

“Gentlemen, at your service,” he said, after 
speaking to a number of those present whom he 
knew. 

The chairman explained to him why he had been 
called by the board. 

[204] 


31 e a n Carroll 

“Are you,” said the president, “in a position to 
look into this matter for the company in the near 
future ?” 

“Yes, sir, I suppose I am. As you are probably 
aware, I have made a study of the zinc fields of 
Southern Missouri for several years. All indica- 
tions point to rich deposits to the southeast of the 
present developments. It has been my intention to 
spend the early part of the summer in that section, 
taking a needed rest from my office work, and to 
study the field at close range. Should you so desire, 
I will make the examination for your company and 
report only to it.” 

“That is just what we want,” chorused a number 
of voices. 

“Can you name a price now for your services that 
we may take official action on the matter?” asked 
the chairman. 

Grevoise studied a moment and named a sum. 

One of the members arose from his seat, and 
said : “Mr. Chairman, I move we employ Mr. Gre- 
voise for this special work.” 

The motion was put and carried. 

“When will you be ready to start?” asked the 
chairman. 

“I will be ready to depart the day after to-mor- 
row, and, gentlemen, will you allow me to suggest 
that my destination and work be kept entirely se- 
cret, as the knowledge that a large company like 
yours was investigating a field would cause others 
to rush in and hamper our work. It is best that 
my friends here understand that I am on a vacation, 
[205] 


3fean Carton 

and that the people where I go do not suspect my 
purpose. For that reason I will not write back until 
my work is finished. The people of that country 
are quick to arrive at conclusions. A letter ad- 
dressed to the company and mailed at one of those 
little country post offices would connect me with 
your company at once. And it will be better that 
you do not write me, as my name might lead to 
their detecting my business. I will simply go into 
the country as a stranger, and so remain until my 
work is finished. ,, 

“We will accept your suggestions and await your 
return for news. I hope it will be good,” the chair- 
man replied. 

“I hope so, too, and believe it will. I have great 
faith in the field. Good-by, gentlemen, until I have 
explored the Ozarks,” and George Grevoise bowed 
himself out of the room. 


Jean Carroll was turning the cattle from the 
lower pasture onto the ranges one morning in early 
spring when he saw, sitting on the fence near the 
gateway a tall, dark-complexioned, well-dressed 
young man. 

“Good morning,” said the stranger. “This is 
Mr. Jean Carroll, I believe?” 

“Yes, sir, that is my name,” Jean replied. 

“Mr. Carroll, I am a stranger in this country, and 
wish to spend a few weeks hunting over your beau- 
tiful hills. I wish to get a place to stay where I can 
come and go at my pleasure, without troubling any 
[206] 


3leatt Cartoll 

one. Could I persuade you to receive me into your 
home on these conditions ?” 

“Yes, sir; you can arrange to stay with me, but 
you will not find it much of a home, as I live alone. 
The house is cared for by the hired man and his 
wife, who live on the other side of the farm. If 
you can accept these conditions, you are welcome 
to stay.” 

“Such a place is just what I want. I can come 
and go without bothering any one except yourself, 
and I will try not to interfere with your plans more 
than I can help. If you will name the price of a 
month’s board, I will pay you now and call this my 
home while here.” 

“We will not quarrel about the charges for board. 
All you will be allowed to pay is something to the 
housekeeper for her work. Leave that until you see 
that our place suits you. If you will walk with me 
to the top of the hill, to start the cattle to the ranges, 
we will then go back to the house, where you can 
see your room and get dinner.” 

Jean took up the small valise which the stranger 
had carried, and led the way, the stranger follow- 
ing, with a light shotgun over his shoulder. 

At the top of the hill they turned to look back 
across the valley. At their feet lay the Murray 
farm, the big square dwelling nestled among a clus- 
ter of evergreens and blooming fruit trees, the farm 
land, the meadows showing green under the morn- 
ing sun, stretched away to the river. 

“This is where I live,” said Jean, pointing to the 
dwelling below. “That road winding up the hill to 
[207] 


3fean Carroll 

the north is the 'big road,’ the road to Springfield. 
That knob, where it hugs the foot, is 'Bald Jess.’ 
Those two knobs away back here to the south are 
the ‘Twin Brothers.’ That peak, across the river, 
almost lost in the azure blue, is 'Lone Tree Moun- 
tain.’ It is thirty miles away, yet, when the sun is 
right, you can see the lone tree on its summit. The 
tall knob to the east is 'Granny Moon’s knob,’ and 
'Granny Moon’s cove’ lies at its foot. The great 
pine forest around it is the Irish Wilderness. It 
stretches on a hundred miles or more to the east.” 

"Mr. Carroll, this is a beautiful country,” said 
the stranger. "Life here should be all pleasures.” 

"It’s good to live here,” said Jean; "but life is 
what we make it. Its pleasures come more from 
within than without.” 

The stranger looked at Jean as if surprised at 
such sentiments from a dweller of the hills. 

"We had better go to dinner,” said Jean. 

After dinner the stranger was shown his room 
and told to make himself entirely at home, and to 
come and go as it suited him. 

“I will take you at your word, Mr. Carroll,” the 
stranger said, "and, if I wander out too far, I may 
spend the night on the mountain side. Outdoor life 
is what I am looking for, so do not feel uneasy if I 
do not appear when expected.” 

It was the busy season of the year, and Jean was 
kept close at home, looking after the farm work and 
the cattle. The stranger, as he was called, came and 
went as he pleased, yet often of an evening both 
were at home together. They spent this time sitting 
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3f e a n Carroll 

on the wide porch, or lying upon the grass, discuss- 
ing items of general interest from the outside world. 
These chats did Jean much good, driving his 
thoughts away from his own affairs and away from 
brooding over the acts of the Bald-knobbers. 

All subjects, except neighborhood gossip and per- 
sonal matters, came up for discussion, the stranger 
proving an interesting talker and a good companion. 
They talked of State affairs, National affairs, phi- 
losophy, science and inventions, yet neither referred 
to the past of the other. The stranger wished to 
avoid disclosing his identity ; Jean was always reti- 
cent in speaking of affairs of his own ; so there were 
no confidences between them, but each day they 
were more and more like friends. 

One evening, as they lay on the cool grass, in the 
bright moonshine, the stranger turned to Jean and 
said : “Mr. Carroll, this is a wonderful country of 
vast possibilities. At the foot of this cove wastes 
enough power to turn ten thousand spindles. On 
every mountain side is a princely fortune in timber. 
These hills and valleys are cut and carved into the 
most beautiful and fantastic forms. Each nook or 
cove would make a beautiful home or health resort. 
The country offers nearly all the attractions to the 
summer roomer that can be found anywhere. Its 
rivers furnish ideal boating and bathing, its springs 
healing waters, its forests delightful walks and 
drives, and its mountains beautiful scenery.” 

“Stranger,” Jean slowly replied, “this is a fair 
land — all that you picture it — but there are things 
better for a country than whirling spindles or lum- 
[209] 


3fean Carroll 

ber fortunes or summer homes. It is a peaceable, 
contented people. I value one good citizen far more 
than all the restless roamers that might come. Don’t 
go away to your city home and tell the hurrying 
hordes of our attractions, our springs, rivers, hills 
and caverns. We like an occasional visitor, who 
can give us a glimpse of the outside world, and who 
can appreciate our country and our simple, honest 
people; but we do not want our grand old hills 
turned into country resorts, or our waterfalls into 
cotton mills.” 

“You are right about the real wealth of a coun- 
try,” said the stranger, raising himself on one el- 
bow. “It is not the number of people, but their con- 
tentment, that marks the real wealth. But you speak 
of caverns, and I have not found any here.” 

“They are here — some that have never been ex- 
plored. I found one last fall, on Granny Moon’s 
knob, that has never been explored, so far as any 
one about here knows.” 

“Oh, I should like to explore an unknown cav- 
ern. I have never had that pleasure.” 

“We call this cave the ‘panther cave/ and, if you 
wish, we will explore it together.” 

“I would certainly enjoy it. When shall we go?” 

“We will go as soon as the rush of harvest is 
over. I feel that a day in the woods would do me 
good.” 


[ 210 ] 


A DISCOVERY 












CHAPTER XIX 


A DISCOVERY 

T HE harvest was over. The wheat fields and 
meadows had been shorn of their abundant 
crops. The corn in the valley was sending 
forth its golden pendants, changing its color to a 
mellow green, and the glad new life of spring was 
being blended into the shades of summer. 

Jean and the stranger were on their way to the 
store, and from there were going to the Panther 
cave. They felt the thrill of the early morning and 
talked and laughed merrily, as their horses’ hoofs 
clattered over the stony road. 

“Hello, judge!” called Jean, addressing the pro- 
prietor, as they rode up to the front of the little 
boxed building that served the double purpose of 
store and post office. “Is there any mail for me?” 

“No, I believe not, Jean. Say, have you seen the 
Springfield papers?” 

“No, judge, what’s the news?” 

“Why, they say the town’s flooded with counter- 
feit silver. Some of it was even passed onto the 
postmaster ! What will they do next, do you 
reckon?” 

“I don’t know. They must be bad when they’ll 

[213] 


3featt CatroU 

pass counterfeit on the government itself. What 
else did they say?” 

‘They say that indications point toward the 
Ozark country as the place where the bad money 
comes from. I’d like to see them pass the stuff on 
me.” 

“Well, I hope it will be found that it didn’t come 
from down in here. We need money, but not that 
kind.” Turning to the stranger Jean said: “Are 
you ready to go ?” 

“Yes,” the stranger replied. “Whenever you 
are,” and the two turned and left the store. 

“Keep your eyes peeled for the stuff, Jean,” called 
the judge. “I’m the government’s agent here and 
would report my own boy if I caught him violating 
the law.” 

“All right, judge, I’ll do it,” replied Jean, as the 
two men mounted their horses and rode off toward 
the Irish wilderness and the Panther cave. They 
reached the cave before noon, and tying their horses 
in a sheltered valley prepared for the exploration. 

The stranger carried a lantern and Jean collected 
some rich pine knots to use should he wish to ex- 
plore alone. They crawled through the opening to 
where the panther had been killed ; here they found 
two leads from the room. They tried one of them, 
but soon reached the end of it and returned to the 
large room. 

“Our work will soon be over if this lead reaches 
no farther than the other,” remarked the stranger. 
“It will hardly be worth our trip up here.” 

“One can never tell about these caves,” Tean re- 
[214] 


3f e a n CatroU 

plied. “They may extend a mile, or they may play 
out in a few yards; all we can do is to try and see.” 

They entered the second lead. It became smaller 
and smaller, until they had to crawl, but extended 
directly into the hill. They moved slowly on and 
on, for what seemed a long distance to the crawling 
men, and came suddenly into a large room. Some 
time was spent in exploring this place and examin- 
ing the walls and roof by the stranger. In some 
places the walls were an ashen hue, the location of 
these being carefully noted by him. Specimens were 
collected from all parts of the room. 

There were many beautiful formations in this 
part of the cave, and a stream of water came from 
the north and, flowing through the room, passed 
out through an opening toward the south. 

At last they sat down on a shelving rock to rest, 
and Jean looked at his watch. “Why, it is after six 
o’clock,” he exclaimed. “We must be moving along 
if we expect to get home to-night. Has the cave 
proven worth the trip?” 

“Oh, certainly; and this is so beautiful and in- 
teresting that I had forgotten the flight of time. 
Let’s follow for a ways the openings leading from 
here and then quit for to-day.” 

“I’ll light my torch, then, and we’ll each take an 
opening,” said Jean. “You take the openings on 
the right and I’ll take the ones on the left, each to 
return here every half hour.” 

They parted and both returned before the half 
hour was gone. They again each entered a differ- 
ent lead and soon returned. 

[215] 


3[ean Carroll! 

“There seems to be very little more to our cav- 
ern, ” said Jean. “All these openings soon end.” 

“There’s two more to try,” said the stranger. 
“I’ll take the branch where the stream leads out and 
you take the other. This stream ought to go some- 
where.” 

Jean entered the last of his openings. It proved 
to be nothing more than a deep fissure extending 
several yards into the wall and he soon had thor- 
oughly explored it and was back in the main cave. 
He sat down by the entrance to the stranger’s lead 
and awaited his return. The half hour passed and 
the stranger did not appear. Jean walked into the 
opening a short way but could hear nothing. 

He waited a few minutes longer, but the stranger 
did not come, and he then decided he would go in 
search of him. Leaving his hat in the opening, so 
that if the stranger should return he would know 
that Jean had been there, he entered the channel 
and followed it a ways, then stopped and listened. 
He heard nothing. He went farther, stopped again 
and called. The sound echoed and reechoed 
through the winding tunnel. When the sound had 
died away there came from far down the channel 
the muffled ring of a gun shot. 

“He is hurt and is shooting to call me,” thought 
Jean, and carefully rearranging his torch he set off 
at a run down the rough floor. Soon a gleam of 
light appeared round a bend in the passage and 
then the flash of the lantern as the stranger, hatless, 
and with a stream of blood coursing down his tem- 
ple, came running toward him. 

[216] 


3fean Carroll 

“Hello! what’s the matter?” Jean asked. “I 
thought I heard you shoot.” 

“Come on ; I’ll explain when we get outside,” the 
stranger replied breathlessly. “We had better get 
out as quickly and as quietly as we can.” Jean 
stepped to the rear, dipped his torch in the stream 
and followed on in the footsteps of the excited man. 

They traveled the whole length of the cave with- 
out speaking, the stranger hurrying forward as fast 
as the nature of the floor would permit. Jean fol- 
lowed step by step, eyes and ears alert for he knew 
not what. Of one thing he felt sure, the stranger 
would not act this way without a cause. Then he 
remembered that they were near the Haunted cove, 
and remembered also what he had seen at the spring 
house. They did well to hurry out. 

Before they reached the entrance, Jean took the 
lantern and turned it out, then crawled carefully 
into the open air. There was no moon, but com- 
pared with the blackness of the cave, the night ap- 
peared bright, and they soon found their horses and 
were away. 

The stranger started for home, but Jean, with his 
instinct for hiding his trail, struck in the opposite 
direction. The stranger, noting this, turned and 
fell in behind and followed Jean’s lead. They gal- 
loped for miles straight ahead. At last Jean al- 
lowed the stranger to reach his side. “I’ll stop 
here,” he said. “You go on until you come to a 
small prairie valley. Stop in the edge of it, and 
wait for me, unless you hear gun shots. If you 
hear me shoot, push on, strike the river and cross 
[217] 


3[ean Cattoll 

it enough to hide your trail before turning home- 
ward.” 

Jean handed his reins to the other rider, and, 
without checking the horses, swung to the ground, 
gun in hand. The horses clattered on down the 
rocky slope. For several minutes he could hear the 
rattle of their hoofs, then they struck the valley 
and the hoof beats ceased, except for an occasional 
sound. He waited and they ceased altogether; the 
stranger had reached the prairie valley and was 
resting. 

Jean turned his ear to listen for other hoof beats. 
He heard a lone wolf howl away beyond the Twin 
Brother Mountains; a laughing owl in the bottom 
ha-haed its weird call ; and, far away in the wilder- 
ness, a panther gave its blood-curdling scream as 
it called to its mate — all sounds of the night. Jean 
pressed his ear to the ground and listened. There 
was no other sound ; there were no followers on the 
trail. He arose and quietly took his way down the 
mountain. 

The stranger had tethered the horses in a shel- 
tered place and slipped back up the mountain to 
watch. He was no woodsman, but understood from 
Jean’s actions that they were to avoid discovery. 
He met Jean at the foot of the hill. 

“Hello!” said Jean, “where are the horses?” 

“I left them over in the woods. Why did you 
stop so far behind and then walk?” 

“I wanted to see if we were followed, but no 
one has yet started on our trail, so now you will 
have time to tell me what happened in the cave 
[218] 


3Iean Carroll 

though I almost know beforehand. That’s a bullet 
mark on your head. Are you much hurt?” 

“No; it is only a scratch. Mr. Carroll, I almost 
hate to tell you what I saw in the cave, for fear you 
cannot believe it. If it were not for the bullet mark 
I would almost doubt it myself. Already it all 
seems like a vision. When we separated in the big 
cavern the last time I followed the stream of water 
for some distance. I had found some very inter- 
esting formations when suddenly, on rounding a 
corner, I saw the gleam of a light in the water 
ahead. At first I thought it might be a reflection 
from my own lantern, and, to test this, I turned my 
light down and set it in a side niche. The gleam 
showed plainer than ever. It flashed into my mind 
that it was light from outside, but that theory was 
broken down by the thought that it was dark out- 
side. I left my lantern where it was and crept 
forward to investigate. I passed a turn in the 
way and saw that the light came through a crevice 
at the end of the passage. The walls were getting 
closer and closer together, and to reach the crevice 
I had to turn sideways. I finally reached a point 
where I could see where the light came from, and 
the sight almost paralyzed me. 

“A big cave was before me, and around a candle 
near the centre a group of men were seated in a 
circle, busily discussing something. All of them, 
except one, wore black masks. The unmasked man 
was a tall, ungainly fellow. He did not sit with 
the group, but stood outside the circle. Near the 
centre of the group was a box, filled to the top 

[219] 


31 e a n Carroll 

with shining silver pieces, with rolls of greenbacks 
around it. 

“As I said before, I was almost paralyzed with 
astonishment and surprise. It seemed like a picture 
from the stories of Robin Hood’s time. I stood 
there awhile motionless, trying to catch the trend 
of their words, and had caught a word here 
and there, among them your name, when you 
called. They all heard the sound and turned 
toward the crevice. A large man with a big 
black hat said : 'Hell ! what’s that ?’ The unmasked 
man said: 'It’s a panther; there it is in that 
crevice.’ 

“I was all the time trying to. get back from the 
light, and had made some slight noise. When the 
fellow said, ‘There it is,’ the big man jerked out his 
pistol and fired. I had not yet turned my head and 
received this shave from the bullet. I got out of 
the crevice, crawled back to my lantern, and then 
ran till I met you. Can you explain what it all 
means ?” 

“Yes ; it’s all clear to me now. The cave reaches 
clear through the mountain. We had gone farther 
than we thought, and you were nearly out on the 
other side. That end of the cave is a retreat for 
some outlaws. You caught them dividing the spoils 
of some successful raid. It is well they thought you 
a panther, and not a man, or you would never have 
escaped. I fear yet they will find their mistake and 
try to trail us home.” 

“I knew we should hurry away, but I didn’t think 
about trying to hide the way we went. Could they 
[220] 


3!ean Carroll 

track the horses across such a stony, rough moun- 
tain?” 

“Yes; they could track us in a lope. A good 
woodsman can trail a deer, as light footed as they 
are, over any of this country.” 

They had reached their horses and both mounted, 
when Jean said: “We must lose our trail if we can. 
They are almost sure to look for the panther and 
thus find it was a man. We must either wait and 
fight it out or throw them off our trail. We’ll try 
to throw them off.” 

“Will they follow us this far?” 

“Yes. If they strike our trail they will follow 
it until they find us or lose the trail. Their power 
in this country depends on their keeping everybody 
afraid of them, and they will try not to let a spy 
go unpunished.” 

“We must not let them find us, Mr. Carroll. I 
do not wish to get into trouble in a strange coun- 
try among strangers.” 

“We must get away from here, then, and never 
speak of where we have been. I hope the postmas- 
ter did not notice the direction we took.” 

“Oh, I know now; that is the place where the 
counterfeit money is made.” 

“It will be safer to forget that until you are well 
out of the Ozarks. These men are desperate men, 
and will stoop to any crime to shield themselves. 
To let it be known where we have been to-night 
will mean our lives.” 

“This is a beautiful land,” said the stranger, “but 
every rose has its thorns.” 

[221] 


3[ean dattoll 

“Yes; but the thorn here is weakening, and be- 
fore many years have passed I hope to see it gone. 
Then, and not till then, will our fair land come into 
its heritage — a land of peaceful homes.” 

They were riding down the valley, came to the 
river and crossed it, rode on until they struck the 
public road, turned to the east and crossed the 
river again, following the road until they reached 
a rocky hill, turned to the right and rode through 
the woods to the south until the river was again 
reached. Here Jean lead the way into the river, 
followed the stream to a riffle, and came out on the 
west side. From there they rode straight through 
the woods to the schoolhouse, where many roads 
met. From the schoolhouse they rode to the store 
and then turned toward home. 

No words were spoken; the stranger wondering 
why such precaution was necessary. Jean, his face 
darkening, seeking the best plans to confuse Bud 
Jones as to who were the cave’s visitors. At the 
creek they turned through the woods and let the 
horses into the lower pasture by a gap in the rail 
fence, and walked up through the meadow and 
orchard to the house. 

When they reached the porch the stranger bade 
Jean good night and went to his room. Jean went 
to the barn to feed the horses and prepare for the 
day’s work. Day was just breaking. 

Jean spent the day mowing weeds in the bottom 
by the lower pasture. He took his big Winchester 
with him to the field. His work gave him a view of 
the road to the store. 


[22 2] 


3[ean Carroll 

The stranger slept until afternoon, and it was 
mid-afternoon when he joined Jean in the field. 
“Mr. Carroll,” he began when he had seated him- 
self near by, “I wish to have a talk with you. My 
stay here for the present is about over. I would have 
gone away soon, anyway, and since the adventure 
of last night I think I had better go at once, 
as it will be impossible to keep the scratch on 
my head concealed, and, if seen, it will give me 
away. 

“I feel it my duty to you, in consideration of 
your great kindness to me, to tell you something 
of my business here. My duty to those who sent 
me does not allow me to say much, yet I will say 
this: While my stay has been a great pleasure, I 
have had a business mission as well, and now that 
mission is fulfilled.” 

“My friend,” Jean interrupted him, “for I hope 
you so consider yourself, you do not owe me any 
confidence that your best interests do not say you 
shall divulge. Although a stranger, you have 
shown yourself a man, and I ask no more. As for 
your calling, I need no telling as to that. Many 
would consider you a government spy, but I know 
you different. You are a prospector, but you need 
not fear I will use the knowledge that I could not 
help but gain.” 

“You have guessed aright, and I thank you for 
keeping what you have known. How did you dis- 
cover my business here?” 

“Easily enough — your acts betrayed you. You 
studied the earth and not the sky, the stones and 
[223] 


3feait Carroll 

not the flowers. Your very caution told your mis- 
sion.” 

“Well, my secret was not so much a secret as I 
thought, and I hope that when I come back, as I 
expect to do, I will be free to tell you who I am and 
all about what we expect to do. I must leave to- 
morrow morning for my home, but before I go, I 
wish to assure you that I appreciate the great kind- 
ness you have shown to me, a total stranger.” 

“No man is a stranger who comes as a friend 
and conducts himself as such.” 

“Well, Mr. Carroll, I must say good-by, for I 
will have to leave early to-morrow to catch the 
Springfield stage. I will write you when I get home 
and get the permission of my employers to do so.” 

“It will not be safe for you to go by the stage, 
the men you saw last night might be watching. The 
best plan will be for you to be ready after dark, 
and I will take you on horseback. I look for 
trouble, but I know how to meet these men — you do 
not. It will be best for you to go to the house and 
keep close till I come. Then we will steal away.” 

“Your offer is very kind, and I accept it. I will 
be ready when you come.” 

The stranger went back to the big house by the 
spring to prepare for his long journey. Jean kept 
to his work near the road that led down the hill 
from toward the store. 

About sundown, while Jean was in the shadow of 
the timber, near the fence, a lone horseman rode 
down the hill from the store, crossed the stream at 
the ford, then left the road and followed the trail 
[224] 


3Iean Carroll 

to the lower pasture fence and examined it closely. 
It was the place where Jean and the stranger had 
let their horses into the pasture that morning. The 
rider was Bud Jones. 


[225] 





I 







AT THE FORD 



CHAPTER XX 


AT THE FORD 

U LA DEAN went home from the Christmas 
tree overcome with anger. She was angry 
at Bud Jones for his insolence, angry at her- 
self for going with him, and doubly angry for al- 
lowing him to display Jean’s present to the giddy 
crowd. 

On reaching home she hardly paused to bid Mar- 
tin and Mollie good night, but hurried to her room. 
She locked the door and quickly unfolded the rug; 
the other presents were tossed aside unnoticed. She 
carefully spread the rug upon the bed and viewed 
its beautiful shades. In the lamplight her name 
shone through the outer fur like a cloud shadow 
on a field of ripening grain. Then for the first 
time she realized the exquisite beauty of the rug 
and the hours of painstaking work it had cost. She 
burst into tears and, throwing herself upon the 
bed, buried her face in its shining coat. 

“Oh, what have I done?” she moaned. “What 
have I done? After the hours and days of labor 
he has spent to please me, to think I could go with 
a man that would slur him and laugh at his work. 
Oh, Jean, if you only knew, you would not blame 
me. I only accepted his company to keep from be- 
[229] 


3featt Carroll 

ing rude. I wanted to be with you, for I love you 
— love you — love you — and now you are mad at 
me.” And there, with her face still resting on the 
rug, she cried herself to sleep, and dreamed of the 
meeting in the pine woods, where she heard the mu- 
sic of the pines, and they sang to her the sweet song 
of love. 

On Christmas day Mollie, with her parents, took 
dinner at the Dean home. After the dinner was 
over, the two girls slipped away to Ula’s room to 
exhibit to each other their Christmas presents, and 
to tell to each other the heart secrets that only girls 
can know. 

“Here is my best present, Mollie,” and Ula, 
blushing, brought from her trunk the panther-skin 
rug and displayed it to Mollie’s admiring eyes. 

“Oh, how beautiful!” cried Mollie. “What a 
fine piece of work it is. I never before saw any- 
thing like it. It’s a present from Jean, too; and 
so appropriate, as you killed the animal while it 
was fighting him. It has taken lots of work to 
finish this. Isn’t he good ! The best fellow in the 
world, except one,” and she threw her arms around 
her friend and kissed her. Then she pushed her 
away at arms’ length and held her, saying: 

“Why, Ula Dean, you’re crying. What’s the 
matter?” 

Ula, with her face hidden on Mollie’s shoulder, 
told the story of Bud’s act, and of Jean leaving the 
schoolhouse the evening before. 

“Oh, you mustn’t cry about that,” Mollie com- 
forted her; “Jean wasn’t mad. He only had one of 

[230] 


3[ean Carroll 

his ‘Indian spells,’ as we used to call them at school. 
He’ll be all right when we see him again. I’ll tell 
him how sorry you are.” 

“No, no ! Mollie, you mustn’t tell him. I couldn’t 
stand that. Please now, you won’t, will you?” 

“No, of course not, if you don’t want me to.” 

“Well, I don’t want you to. He ought to know, 
without being told, that I hate Bud Jones for what 
he did. I hear Martin calling us to take a walk to 
the spring. Shall we go?” 

“Oh, yes, let’s go,” and Mollie ran off, leaving 
Ula to put away the presents and follow her. It 
was their last talk for the day, and weeks passed, 
weeks of bad stormy weather, before they talked 
again. 

As she rode home with her parents that after- 
noon Mollie planned how she would let Jean know 
something of Ula’s state of mind, even if she had 
been forbidden to tell. She could hint at least. But 
she was doomed to be disappointed; Jean’s grand- 
father was worse and he could not leave home, and 
when she did see him once at church he only spoke 
and passed on. He spoke pleasantly, but there was 
a sadness in his face and a far-away look in his 
eyes that showed he was not like his old self. 

Jean met Ula Dean in the same way — always 
kind and courteous, but as if something was lacking, 
and each time she was glad to get home where she 
could cry herself to sleep. 

Her face was losing some of its color, and her 
step its buoyant spring. Her parents feared she 
was sick. They talked of a visit back east for Ula’s 

[231] 


3fean Carroll 

health, but she begged them not to take her away, 
and the trip was postponed. 

When the warm spring days came it was planned 
that the Sunday-school should spend a day in the 
woods. Early in the morning the children, under 
the care of their teachers, gathered at the old school- 
house, where they mounted heavy hay wagons and 
rode to the banks of Swan Creek, where the dinner 
was to be spread. 

Many of the older people of the neighborhood 
were present, among them Bud Jones and some of 
his followers. 

Bud pretended to take a great interest in the chil- 
dren ; made for them a swing from a grapevine and 
carried stones to build them a passway across the 
stream. When dinner was over he endeavored to 
speak to Mollie Ming, but finding that Martin 
Rogers occupied all her time, he turned his atten- 
tion to Ula Dean. 

She only answered him when politeness . com- 
pelled her to do so, and to escape him called her 
class together and went in search of flowers for a 
wreath. 

Bud followed her, and gathering some flowers 
himself, said: “You have a fine class, Miss Dean.” 

“Yes, sir; they are all good boys and girls.” 

“They could not be otherwise with such a teacher. 
Will you allow me to join your class for to-day?” 

“Please excuse me, Mr. Jones; I do not wish for 
any additions,” and she hurried away to assist some 
of the little girls that were calling her. 

Bud’s companions, who were eager to catch every 

[232] 


3fean Carroll 

word he said, overheard the whole conversation. 
They were laughing boisterously when Bud joined 
them. 

“She scratched you again, didn't she?” said the 
boy from Cowskin. “Didn’t I tell you she was a 
painter ?” 

“Somebody’s been telling her lies about me,” said 
Bud; “and I know who it is. It’s that d d In- 

dian, Jean Carroll. I’ll get even with him yet.” 

Ula continued listless and her father wrote to 
their old family physician regarding her condition. 
The doctor advised horseback riding, and to this 
Ula gladly agreed, atid by early spring had taken 
to riding every day. The exercise was doing her 
great good. She was improving in spirits as well 
as bodily health. The daily contact with Nature, 
as she rode across hill and woodland, could not fail 
to revive her spirits. 

She rode to the store for the mail, to the neigh- 
bors when there were errands of any kind, and even 
to the ranges after the cattle, although these trips 
were never made without her father’s company. 

It was midsummer, on a bright afternoon, when 
she rode over for a short visit with Mollie Ming. 
The two friends had much to tell each other and 
time passed swiftly for them. It was getting late 
when Ula glanced at her watch. 

“Oh, I didn’t know it was so late!” she ex- 
claimed. “I must be going.” 

“Wait just a minute, Ula, I wish to tell you some- 
thing. You know that Bud Jones used to come to 

[233] 


31 e a n Catroll 

see me before Martin and I were acquainted. I 
never did want to see him, but treated him nicely 
on father’s account. Well, he's been coming again 
lately, pretending to wish to see father. I show 
him that I do not want him to come, but he doesn't 
quit. I don’t know what to do. I am afraid Mar- 
tin will blame me for what I can’t help.” 

“Have you told him about it?” 

“Yes; and he said he could trust me; but he 
might get to thinking that I encouraged Bud after 
awhile.” 

“You needn’t be afraid, Mollie. I’ll use your 
words in speaking of him: ‘he’s the best man in the 
world, but one,’ if he is my cousin.” 

“What must I do, Ula ? Father has business with 
Bud and I can’t refuse to speak to him. I wish I 
could see Jean. He’d tell me what to do.” 

“When did you see Jean last. I never see him 
any more. I know he’s mad at me.” 

“He must be mad at me, too, for I never see 
him, except once in a while when he comes to see 
father on business. But he’s not mad, Ula; he’s 
only bothered about something. He won’t get mad 
without a cause, and we’ve given him no cause.” 

“Mollie, it’s late, and I must go now. It’ll be 
dark before I get home, for I’m going the river 
road. I like it when I feel ‘blue.’ It’s so gloomy 
and lonesome that it suits my spirits.” 

“You must be like Jean in that, he says the trees 
always talk to him to suit his temper. You’ll pass 
by his field. I hope you’ll see him.” 

[234] 


3fean Carroll 

“I want to see him, but I don’t want to go to see 
him. Well, good-by, Mollie, I’m off. Come over.” 

“I will. Good-by.” 

“Poor Ula,” Mollie murmured to herself, as she 
walked toward the house, “Jean doesn’t know what 
a true heart she is keeping for him, or he’d fly to 
her, and it won’t do for any one to tell him, for he 
must find it out for himself. He’ll do it some day, 
for they were made for each other.” 

Ula rode down through the pine forest to the 
valley, and then slowly through its darkening shad- 
ows toward the Murray farm. She was nearing 
the ford, where the trail she was traveling joined 
the road that came from the store, when she heard 
hoof beats coming down the store road. She 
paused to listen and, finding that the rider would 
soon be at the creek, pulled her horse aside into the 
shadow of a vine-clad tree and waited for him to 
pass. 

The rider soon came into view. It was Bud 
Jones, and he was riding very slowly, with his eyes 
fastened on the ground. He crossed the creek, 
rode on a few steps, then stopped his horse and 
looked closely at the ground at the side of the road. 
He then turned and rode out to the Murray pas- 
ture fence. He paused at the fence a few moments, 
examined it carefully, and, turning, rode rapidly up 
the road toward the Murray home. 

Ula rode slowly along the sandy way to the ford, 
wondering what Bud Jones could be doing at the 
Murray farm. Her horse stopped at the creek to 

[235] 


3[ e a n Carroll 

drink and, looking across the river, she saw, 
through an opening between the trees, Jean Carroll. 
He had not seen her, but stood like a statue, his fine 
form outlined against the horizon, his hands on a 
scythe, his eyes alone showing life, as they followed 
the now distant horseman. 

Even at the distance she was away, she could see 
a sorrowful look on his face — the shadow of fur- 
rows on his brow. Her heart went out to him. 
She wanted to call to him, to go to him, to tell him 
she was his friend. 

He did not move. The horse had finished drink- 
ing and stood idly in the cool water. Ula did not 
know how long she had been there, busy with her 
thoughts, when a gun shot rang out from near the 
farm gate. She glanced in that direction and saw 
the smoke leisurely rise above the shrubbery in 
front of the house. 

She again turned her eyes toward the reaper. He 
was no longer there. In his stead stood a savage 
warrior, with flashing eyes and quivering nostrils, 
his scythe gone, and in its stead a shining rifle. He 
stood but an instant, then, like an avenging demon, 
stooped over and ran along the fence toward the 
house. 

Ula was frightened at she knew not what. She 
turned her horse and, through the fast-gathering 
darkness, galloped home. 


[236] 


DIVIDING THE SPOILS 











CHAPTER XXI 


DIVIDING THE SPOILS 

O VER six months had passed since the Bald- 
knobbers had decided by vote at the meeting 
in the Skinny Murphy cave, that Skinny 
should turn his attention to the manufacture of 
counterfeit money, instead of moonshine whisky. 
Skinny had not slept at his task, and large quanti- 
ties had been made, and much of it passed into the 
hands of the public through different channels. 

Word had been passed to the different members 
that a meeting to divide the profits would be held 
at the cave on the next regular night. Every one 
attended. Most of them because they wished a 
share of the ill-gotten gains, and the others because 
they feared to remain away. 

The men, all masked, except Skinny, as usual, 
were seated in different positions waiting for the 
meeting to begin, when the leader called for order. 
All were at once quiet. 

“Friends and fellow clansmen,” the leader began, 
“to-night’s meeting is a very happy one. It will 
make up for many of the night rides we have made 
over the country. Skinny, bring out your box.” 
Skinny unfolded his long, jumping- jack-like 

[239] 


3 lean Carroll 

shape, and shooting his restless glance here and 
there, said: ‘Til have to have some help to carry 
it.” 

There was a loud laugh at the significance of this 
remark, and a number sprang up to assist. 

“Hold on there, boys,” yelled the leader; “don’t 
get in a hurry. Jim, you and Ben and Sol may 
help; the rest of you sit down.” 

Soon the four men came, carrying a heavy box 
from the rear of the cave, and placed it in the cen- 
tre of the group. Skinny unlocked the padlock and 
displayed the big box filled to overflowing with 
shining dollars. 

“Now, boys, here are several thousand dollars,” 
the leader said; “but this is not all. Every one is 
expected to turn back half of all they have collected. 
We will commence on our right. How much, Jud- 
kins?” 

“I was given five hundred dollars and have ex- 
changed about all of it. Here is what I got; divide 
it.” 

The leader quickly divided the money and handed 
Judkins his half. “The balance we’ll lay on the 
box,” he said. 

They went around the group in the same man- 
ner, each giving his report and handing in half he 
had secured in exchange. 

When they came to Chris Ming he rose and, 
drawing a buckskin bag from behind him, said : 
“Boys, I objected to going into this and so have not 
disposed of any of my part. I have returned it as it 
was handed me.” 


[240] 


31 c £t n Carroll 

“The hell you have!” exclaimed the leader. “Then 
you’ll get no share of the profits.” 

“I do not want a share.” 

“Oh, you are trying to play good, are you? Well, 
we’ll see about you soon,” then turning to the 
crowd said: 

“Boys, we will divide the profits in a few min- 
utes, but before we do I wish to caution you about 
two men who are a danger to us. They are Jean 
Carroll and the stranger that stops with him. That 
stranger is no fool, and the sooner he leaves the 
country the better it will be for us. What do you 
say about giving him his walking papers to-night. 

It might teach Jean Carroll, that d d mixed 

blood, a good lesson. Hell! what is that?” he ex- 
claimed as a faint halloo came from the back of the 
cave. 

All eyes turned in that direction. Murphy 
jumped to his feet, saying: “It’s a panther. There 
it is in that crevice.” The leader pulled his re- 
volver and fired, but the “panther” escaped. 

“Well, boys, I guess I missed him ; but I thought 
I was close to his eye when I fired. How do you 
suppose the beast got in there?” 

“Maybe you killed him, cap,” said Skinny. “I’m 
going to see, anyway.” 

He took down a candle from the wall and sham- 
bled up to the crevice where the “panther” had been 
seen. The leader began to count out the money into 
piles for the members. 

“Say, Judkins, come here,” called Skinny. “Ain’t 
this the place where we saw the varmint?” 

[241] 


3|eatt Carroll 

“Yes ; right in that hole. Did Bud kill it ?” asked 
Judkins, going up to where Skinny was peering into 
the crevice. 

“No, I guess not. What kind of tracks is that 
thar on the muddy bottom ?” 

“I can’t see, Skinny ; hold your light higher. Oh, 
hell-fire ! it’s a man’s track.” 

“Hush! Don’t talk so loud. Shall we tell the 
others?” 

“Yes, I guess so; but how did he get in there?” 

“I don’t know, unless — yes, that’s it ; that panther 
cave must come clean through the hill. Yes, I know 
it does, for sometimes I can feel a current of air 
coming through there. Let’s tell the other boys.” 

When they reached the crowd Bud had just fin- 
ished counting the money, and he said : “Well, it’s 
counted, boys. Skinny, did I hit the beast?” 

“No ; but I wish you had. Do you know what it 
was?” All turned at his words. “It was a man!” 

All sprang to their feet. Half a dozen began 
talking at once ; others ran up to the hole to look. 

“Come back here, you fools !” shouted the leader. 
“Don’t you know he’s liable to pick you off one at 
a time from around some corner ? How did he get 
in there, Skinny? You had charge of the door.” 

“I’ve not had charge of the door that he came 
by. There’s no opening from here into that place 
that a man can pass through.” 

“What do you mean, you fool ? Do you think it 
was a ghost?” 

Several of the men began to look at each other 
with paling cheeks. Skinny answered: “No; it was 
[242] 


31 eatt Carroll 

no ghost, but a real man ; and he must have come in 
through the panther cave. I propose that we hurry 
around there and catch him as he comes out.” 

“You’d be too late, Skinny. If he’s a spy — and 
of course he is — he’s hurried out as soon as he was 
discovered, and he’s gone by this time. Boys, what 
had we better do?” 

“We’d better get rid of all this stuff and scat- 
ter,” said a big man from the rear. “He won’t have 
enough men to raid us to-night, and all we’ve got 
to do is to get all evidence out of the way here. We 
were all masked and he can’t swear to any of us.” 

“I wasn’t masked. What’ll I do?” Skinny asked. 

“Oh, you’ll have to look out for yourself,” replied 
the leader. 

“Well, boys, when I go there’ll be a crowd,” 
Skinny drawled out. 

“D n you, Skinny ; quit croakin’ ; it makes me 

nervous. You’ll be taken care of. Boys, Jake’s 
plan is a good one. Jake, you and Bob and Pete 
and Bill may take the stuff and sink it in the deepest 
part of the river. Take the molds and all.” 

“No, you don’t; them molds are mine,” Skinny 
broke in. “I’ll take care of them; I may need 
them.” 

“All right, Skinny; you may keep your molds. 
Now, boys, every man of you come by here and I’ll 
pay him his share. Then all get out and scatter, 
and don’t try to pass any more of the stuff soon. 
I’ll keep watch around to-morrow, and next Friday 
night we’ll meet at the Falling Spring and decide 
what to do.” 


[243] 


3Ieait Carroll 

“Bud, hadn’t we better try to find out who the 
man was?” one asked. “Then we will know what 
to do.” 

“Leave that to me; I’ll report at the spring meet- 
ing. Now, some of you lead out.” 

The men began to leave, one by one; those still 
remaining talking to each other in subdued tones. 
Their old bravado was gone with detection con- 
fronting them. 

Bud followed Chris Ming from the cave. When 
they had reached the shelter of the woods, Bud 
said in friendly tones : “Chris, I don’t want you to 
turn against me. I love Mollie, and want you to 
help me with her. You will, won’t you? I’m not 
such a bad fellow, and now have a pile of good 
money laid by.” 

“Bud Jones, it is cruel of you to speak so to me. 
You know that Mollie does not love you. Why 
don’t you get some girl that does ? Why don’t you 
marry Ula Dean?” 

“Damn Ula Dean, and all her aristocratic family. 
I love Mollie, and I’m going to have her. That 
slick-faced Rogers is dangling around her too much. 
Do you hear?” 

“I’ll see what I can do ; but, Bud, some day you’ll 
drive me too far, and then I’ll show you what I’ll 
do.” 

“Now you’re getting gay, are you? Maybe I’d 
better send you to the pen. Perhaps a convict’s 
daughter would look at me with more favor. Oh! 
that touches you, does it? Well then, keep that city 
fop away from Mollie, and all will be right.” 

[244] 


3[ e a n Carrol! 

“Look here, don’t you say any more about that, 
Bud Jones. I told you I’d see what I could do, and 
I’ll do it, but you must keep your mouth shut. What 
are you going to do about the man who saw us?” 

“I’ll do enough. I’ll track up the coward and 
find who he is, and then he’ll never tell any more 
tales. I turn off here ; I’ll be over Sunday.” 

Chris rode home broken in spirit, his face care- 
worn. He said to himself : “I’ve tried to be a just 
and upright man, but my loyalty to the clan I helped 
to form has been my ruin. I cannot stand arrest 
and disgrace. It would kill my wife and Mollie. 
Still, I had rather see Mollie dead than the wife of 
Bud Jones. I ought to tell her how it is, but I 
can’t. She would hate me.” 

Late the next afternoon Mollie went to the spring 
to get water for supper. Chris followed and met 
her as she turned back to the house. 

“Mollie, little girl, you mustn’t get mad at what 
I must ask of you,” he said as she approached him. 
“I have good reasons for it. I’ve tried to be a good 
father to you.” 

“You have been good to me, and you know I 
won’t get mad at my dear old dad.” 

“Don’t talk that way, Mollie, or I can’t 
stand it. Mollie, you must quit going with Martin 
Rogers.” 

“Oh, father, why do you say that ? He’s a good 
man.” 

“I can’t tell you why I say it, but you must. Will 
you do as I say?” 

“Yes, daddy, I’ll do as you say; but, oh, what 

[245]. 


31 e a tt Carroll 

will I do?” and she dropped upon the grass by the 
pathway and began to cry. 

Chris hurried away, hating himself and all the 
world. 


[246] 


A PLEA FOR JUSTICE 





















CHAPTER XXII 


A PLEA FOR JUSTICE 

W HEN Jean reached the house from the lower 
pasture he found all the farm hands there 
before him. They were greatly excited, 
and hurried here and there, none of them knowing 
what to do. On the porch lay the stranger, an ugly 
jagged wound in his back, a pool of blood at his 
side. 

He smiled at Jean and reached out his hand to 
him as he approached, tried to raise himself, stran- 
gled and fell back — dead. 

The body was gently carried into the house and 
laid upon a bed, and a few minutes later a horse- 
man started for the county seat to notify the cor- 
oner and the neighbors along the way. 

Jean, shocked almost to a stupor, sat by the bed- 
side, his face in his hands. He did not speak; he 
did not move. For hours he sat buried in thought. 
How uncertain was life. When the stranger left 
him in the meadow he was thrilling with life and 
hope ; now he lay cold in death. But for a mistake 
by the murderer, he, Jean Carroll, would lie there 
pale and cold while others watched around him. Bud 
Jones had murdered, but had mistaken his man. 
Neighbors gathered in from far and near. Si- 

[249] 


3fcait Catron 

lently they came in to view the dead. Jean saw 
them not. Sam Miller asked Jean if he would eat 
some supper. He would not hear him. Later they 
asked if he would not rest and let them watch, but 
they were answered nothing. All through the long 
hours of the night and all the next day, he sat as 
if the whole world was dead; watching and weep- 
ing alone for the stranger in a strange land, who 
had died for him. 

Late in the afternoon the coroner, a whisky- 
wrecked physician, arrived. He came blustering 
into the room and ordered all to stand back, and 
give room for the jury; a “hoodlum” set brought 
from the county seat. The county attorney was 
there, red-eyed from liquor drinking. He exam- 
ined the buildings and premises as if he expected to 
find a clew to the murderer, and asked loud and 
insinuating questions of the farm hands present. 
He impressed the bystanders with his official impor- 
tance and show of cunning. 

When the jury had examined the body and the 
murdered man’s belongings, witnesses were called to 
testify. The attorney did the questioning. The 
first called was Tom, the farm hand. He knew but 
little. He was the first to arrive. The stranger had 
fallen on his face, and had been shot in the back, 
from the woods in front of the house. There was 
but one shot. The other farm hands had arrived 
directly after him, and Jean in a few more minutes. 
The stranger was wearing one of Jean’s wide- 
brimmed hats when found. 

The other farm hands testified about as Tom 

[250] 



“Honest voters, you are in the majority, will you control? 
Will you nominate this ticket ?” The answer was a 

clear, “We will !’’ 


(Jean Carroll.) — P. 247 



31eait Carroll 

did. One of them had noticed that Jean carried his 
rifle when he came to the house. 

When these witnesses had been examined Jean 
was called. 

“Were you acquainted with the deceased now be- 
fore you?” was the first question he was asked. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“How long have you known him?” 

“About eight weeks.” 

“Do you know his name?” 

“I do not. He said he was a stranger, and I 
knew him only by that title.” 

“What was his occupation?” 

“His occupation while here was a secret, and I 
do not feel free to mention it.” 

“Under the law you must answer.” 

“Well then, he was a prospector.” 

“A prospector; yes, very likely. Do you know 
how he came by the shot that killed him?” 

“No. I did not see him shot, but I saw the smoke 
from the gun, and heard the report, and a few mo- 
ments before saw a man ride toward the spot from 
which the shot came.” 

“You did not see the man shoot?” 

“No, sir.” 

“Then you need not tell who the man was: It 
would not be evidence against him.” 

“But the man acted very strangely, and I have 
reason to believe he shot the stranger.” 

“You need not give them; but you may tell the 
jury whether you had a rifle when you came to 
the house after the stranger had been killed.” 

[251] 


31 1 a it Carroll 

“Yes, sir; I had my rifle with me.” 

“You may stand aside; that is all.” 

Jean walked away, agony written all over his 
face. The inquest was a mockery. The murderer 
was to be shielded and an attempt made to cast sus- 
picion upon himself. 

The jury was told to bring in their verdict. They 
were out only a few minutes, and could be heard 
laughing and talking while away. Their verdict 
read: “We, the jury, find that the deceased, an un- 
known man, came to his death from a gunshot 
wound in the back, such wound inflicted by an un- 
known person.” 

In the stranger’s valise, which was turned over 
to the officials, no name or letter was found that 
could assist in discovering his identity. Several 
dollars in cash were found in his pocket. These 
were taken and preparations made for a county 
burial. 

Jean had one of the neighbors ask .the officers for 
the privilege of caring for and burying the dead. 
The privilege was readily granted. 

“Yes, let him have the stiff,” said the county at- 
torney. “It saves the county money. Boys, let’s be 
off ; it’ll take us till night to get home. I want to 
rest up for the speaking to-morrow afternoon.” 
With loud talking and laughing the officials and 
their “hangers-on” rode away toward town. 

The next morning, in a green, shady lot, close by 
the grave of Jaques Murray, the stranger was laid 
to rest. Jean was the only mourner, but there were 
many damp eyes in the congregation that listened 

[252] 


3[ean Carroll 

to the stirring words of the preacher, and wit- 
nessed the sorrowful features of the strong young 
man. 

The funeral services were closed. Jean knelt 
for a few moments beside the new-made mound, 
then rose and made his way across the hills toward 
the county seat. 

It was a big day for the politicians. Crowds of 
men thronged the streets when Jean reached the 
town. Groups of farmers were standing on every 
corner expressing their views. The county officials 
were nearly all candidates for reelection in the fall, 
and these men were very busy shaking hands, laugh- 
ing and talking with their friends and henchmen. 
Among the workers were Bud Jones and other lead- 
ers of the rougher element, all assisting in the work 
of the day. 

Jean waited until he caught sight of the sheriff, 
a big, jovial-looking man, who held the office, not 
because he was competent, but because the Bald- 
knobbers knew he would not harm them. 

The sheriff greeted Jean warmly, and gladly com- 
plied with his request for a private talk. Jean was 
known as a leader among the better class of men 
of his neighborhood, and as such would be courted 
by the candidates. 

Jean at once told his business. He began with 
the story of the stranger’s coming to his home, and 
closed with his murder, telling all except the visit 
to the cave, and who was seen riding toward the 
house. 

At first the sheriff seemed interested, but became 

[253] 


3Ieatt Carroll 

uneasy when he found that he was expected to in- 
vestigate the murder, and arrest the murderer. He 
wanted Jean’s support, but he wanted the support 
of the offenders also. 

“Did you see the man do the shooting, Mr. Car- 
roll?” the sheriff asked. 

“No; I did not see him shoot, but I know who 
it was, and can produce all the circumstantial evi- 
dence that you would need to prove it.” 

“It would not be worth the trouble. He could 
not be convicted on such evidence. I regret very 
much that it is so, but we can do nothing in the 
matter. All we might do would be useless. Please 
excuse me now, as I have an appointment with some 
friends.” 

“No; I will not excuse you.” Jean spoke with de- 
termination. “I ask you to do your duty, and your 
time belongs to your duty before your friends. Will 
you investigate this foul murder ?” he demanded. 

“No; I think an investigation useless.” 

“You won’t investigate it? Then, sheriff, what 
some say — that you are owned, soul and body, by 
the toughs — is true. I’ll make that refusal cost you 
your office.” 

“Oh, you will, will you? Well, go ahead, you 
d d Indian, and see who comes out ahead.” 

Jean turned away without a muscle in his face 
moving, and took his seat near the speaker’s stand. 

The sheriff and a friend, who overheard the con- 
versation, joined Bud Jones and his crowd, and had 
a hearty laugh over Jean’s backdown. He had 
taken a “cussin’ ” without resenting it. 

[254] 


3fean Carroll 

The speaker was a man of ability, and spoke long 
and loud, touching upon every national issue of the 
day, but avoiding the only live issue before his au- 
dience — the enforcement of the law. He praised 
the county officials for their work and advocated 
their reelection. When he closed there was a chorus 
of cheers. 

Jean at once arose to his feet and moved toward 
the stand. His friends, who did not know he was 
present, looked on him at first with surprise, and 
then with admiration, as he, with his long, curly 
hair tossed back from his brow, mounted the plat- 
form. 

The chairman did not recognize him, but shaking 
his hand, inquired his name, and then introduced 
him to the waiting audience. 

Jean moved to the front of the platform without 
a falter. Before he arose he feared that coming 
before so many would unnerve him, but his college 
training, his natural fearlessness, and a just cause, 
gave him strength and he felt at home. He looked 
the crowd over carefully, and then began. 

At first he spoke in low, soft tones. He told 
these men of the woods the story of their country 
homes. He told them of the hardships of their an- 
cestors. What they had endured that his hearers 
might prosper; of the county, its growth and de- 
velopment, and of the great possibilities it con- 
tained. 

His words were striking a responsive chord in 
every heart, and every man gave close attention. 
Then the voice of the speaker increased until it rang 

[255] 


31ean CartoII 

through the clear air and echoed from the adjacent 
buildings. He was saying: 

‘‘Friends and fellow voters of this, the fairest 
county on God’s green footstool : I came not here 
to tell the story of our forefathers’ deeds; I came 
not here to boast the hidden wealth of our lovely 
hills; I came not here to speak in the name of any 
party, creed or clique; but I came to speak in behalf 
of the fairest name that any language contains, the 
name of that Goddess of all Liberties — Justice. 

“Sixty years ago our fathers settled this fair land 
of ours and established their homes. For thirty 
years they lived in peace — Justice ruled. No man’s 
hand was raised against another. We were neigh- 
bors; friends. Then came that dark and bloody 
hour, not from trouble within, but from dissensions 
without. Our fathers took sides and there was war. 
The Goddess Justice slept. But, thank God, war 
has ceased. Each, the Blue and the Gray, see life 
in a broader light, and we are enemies no longer. 
Not enemies, but friends and neighbors. 

“The cruel war is over — has been over for 
twenty years; but peace has not come. Justice is 
still dethroned. The soldier from the battlefield 
has lain down his arms, but the murderer, the plun- 
derer, still defies our laws. 

“Friends, law-abiding citizens, our county needs 
our help. Let us lay aside our prejudices and join 
together for the good of our fair land. I do not 
want to stir up a fight against any man as a man, 
or against any party as a party; but I come in the 
name of law enforcement and justice. 

[256] ' 


3Iean Carroll 

“Two days ago a stranger was foully murdered 
at my door. To-day I asked the officials to investi- 
gate the crime, but they answered me ‘No !’ I have 
called upon our officials for justice; they will not 
grant it. I now come in the name of that unknown 
Christian stranger, who lies beneath the whispering 
pines, and appeal to the highest tribunal in this 
glorious land of ours, the common people, and ask 
of you that boon, Justice.” 

As the impassioned words died away in the dis- 
tance all was for a moment silent. Then there was 
a murmur that grew and grew until the town rang 
with a rousing cheer. When quiet was restored, 
Jean continued : 

“Friends, I ask that a Law and Order Party be 
organized — not for party power, but for our coun- 
ty’s good, and I ask that a ticket of good, sober, 
law-abiding men be at once nominated. 

“Honest voters, you are in the majority, will you 
control? Will you nominate this ticket?” 

The answer was a clear “We will!” 

“You say you will, and I know you will do 
what you promise, and the nomination of that 
ticket means the death-knell of those of our 
land who want to live by tribute, theft and mur- 
der.” 

There was a great commotion when Jean closed. 
The leaders, who had been taken by surprise, tried 
to rally their forces, but they had lost their con- 
trol. An old veteran, with an empty sleeve, jumped 
upon a box and announced that all who favored a 
law-and-order ticket would meet in the courtroom 

[257] 


3[ean Carroll 

in ten minutes. There was a general rush to the 
appointed place. 

Jean left the platform and hurried away. Many 
tried to speak to him, but he only nodded, and when 
pressed, he said: ‘No; I will take no part but to 
vote,” and he walked away across the fields towards 
the forest. 

The courtroom was crowded. All wanted “Law 
and Order.” All that was needed was a spark to 
light the fire. A complete list of candidates was 
nominated, among them being Frank Jackson for 
sheriff. Frank was called on for a speech. He 
said : 

“Friends, Fm no speaker, and I care not for 
office nor for power; but for the good of my county 
and in the name of Justice, I will accept.” 

His words were cheered loudly and the meeting 
closed. 


[258] 


THE LONG RACE 




CHAPTER XXIII 


THE LONG RACE 

W HEN Jean left the county seat he plunged 
into the near-by forest and picked his way 
in the direction of the Irish Wilderness. 
He felt that his surroundings were smothering him, 
and that he must get into the wild, free woods 
alone. The contact with Nature in her purity soon 
revived his spirits, until he felt that he again cared 
to live. If only the good people would join to- 
gether and do their duty, things might yet be well. 

By nightfall he had reached Hunter Jack’s cabin 
on the mountainside and stopped to take supper 
with his boyhood friend, and to talk over with him 
the incidents of the past few days. He found the 
old man at home, moulding bullets for his old muz- 
zle-loading rifle. 

“Well, Jean, I’m glad to see you, my boy,” the 
old hunter said when his visitor had been seated. 
“I’ve heard of the happenings of the last few days 
over at your house, and I think I know who is the 
guilty coward, but it’s not best to say, for I couldn’t 
prove it.” 

“Uncle Jack, I know who did the cowardly act, 
but the officers would not let me tell what I’d seen, 


31 e a it Carroll 1 

but tried to leave the impression that I was the 
guilty party. I don’t mind what they say, but I 
hate to think I can do nothing to avenge my mur- 
dered friend, even though the shot that killed him 
was intended for me. But I will avenge him, Uncle 
Jack; I will avenge him.” 

“Jean, I’m an old man, and had passed the years 
in which revenge seemed sweet before you were 
born. Revenge is sweet only in anticipation ; after- 
wards it is often bitter as gall. I’ve lived in the 
woods a long time, and have learned to love Nature 
and the wild things of the woods, and I find their 
ways pleasant ways. Nature never seeks revenge.” 

“But what shall I do, Uncle Jack? What would 
you do?” 

“I’d obey the law; you cannot stop lawlessness 
by disobeying the law. Abide by the law and you 
and yours will win in the end. I told the Bald- 
knobbers that they could never make this a law- 
abiding country by violating the law themselves. 
Now the clan is the greatest menace to law enforce- 
ment we have.” 

“Uncle, you are right; I will try to do as you 
say. I will work to secure officials that will en- 
force the law.” 

Then to change the subject the old hunter asked: 

“Jean, where have you been that you haven’t any 
gun?” 

“I’ve been to town, uncle, and just came back 
here for a short visit with you. I am going on 
home. It will be nice and cool through the wilder- 
ness now.” 


[262] 


3f e a n Carroll 

“Why not stay until morning? You are tired al- 
ready.” 

“I was tired when I came, but the good supper 
and good advice you have given me have rested me, 
and I will go on home. Come over to the farm 
and get some apples. There’s plenty and to spare.” 

“I’ll come, Jean; but I wish you’d stay all night. 
It’s a long walk home.” 

“I don’t mind the walk, uncle. Good night.” 

Jean started out through the pleasant night in 
better spirits than he had been since the exploration 
of the cave. The old hunter’s advice had decided 
his course. He would abide by the law. That was 
the way to get the help of law-abiding citizens. Per- 
haps things would not be so bad, after all. If good 
officials were elected things would soon be right 
again. Outlawry would have to stop, or the offen- 
ders would be punished. 

He had just climbed a long ridge and feeling 
warm and in a quiet mood, he sat down by a large 
pine on the brink of a deep canon to rest. 

How beautiful was the night. The moon was 
setting low in the distant west and the twinkling 
stars in the cloud-flecked sky dimly showed the out- 
lines of the great trees on the mountainside, and 
intensified the darkness in the valley below. How 
peaceful was the world of Nature. The winds in 
the pines whispered of peace. The soft, fleecy 
clouds in the starry heavens closed together and 
clasped hands in token of peace. A whippoorwill 
far down the valley called to his mate on the hill- 
side, singing his song of love and peace ; and down 

[263] 


3[ean Carroll 

the river, mellowed by the distance, was heard the 
loud call of the great horned owl. All nature was 
at peace. All the world was at peace but poor, in- 
significant man. And to the woods dreamer the 
trials and troubles of the past few days seemed al- 
most a dream, and he felt he might awake at any 
moment and find it had all passed away. 

The dreamer sat thus for an hour, enjoying the 
solitude, viewing the scenes of his past life, which 
seemed spread out before him like a book, when 
he dropped off to sleep. 

He awoke with a start. Around him were the 
friendly trees and above him were the friendly stars, 
but there was a change. What was it? He bent his 
head and listened. Far down the valley he heard 
the rattle of horse’s hoofs on the gravel. He lis- 
tened again and another hoof beat was heard on 
the mountainside, and then another and another, 
all coming toward the valley below him. 

The first horseman reached the foot of a big 
forked pine and stopped. Others came, and others, 
until there were a dozen or more men present. 

Jean waited and watched. It was a meeting of 
the Bald-knobbers, he knew. What was their mis- 
sion to-night? 

For awhile the men talked in low, muffled tones, 
but when the last man had arrived the leader clapped 
his hands and all turned toward him. 

“Boys,” says he, “I’ve called the clan together 
because we’ve got some hard work to do. I invited 
just you fellows because I know you are all true to 
the clan, and will do what’s needed and not quibble. 

[264] 


31 e a n Cartoll 

“Our clan has been very successful in the past 
and for years has controlled the county. Controlled 
it without much opposition, but opposition has come 
at last. The office-hungry crowd at the county seat 
has been waiting for a chance to beat our fellows 
for years, and now they’ve found it. A fool of a 
leader has started them out, and that fellow must 
be made to know his place or we will be downed. 
To-day’s work at town must be overcome, and the 
way to overcome it is to stop the man who started 
it. If he is allowed to go on it means the election 
of anti-clan men this fall. If to-day’s nominees 
are elected, many of our men who are lukewarm 
now will quit us cold and help the officers against 
us. With their support the officers could ferret us 
out, land us in jail, and the devil will be to pay. 

“How many of you would like to face a trial for 
killing Lem Anderson? We might handle the of- 
ficers after they were elected, but that makes too 
plain a case, and the boys wouldn’t stand for it. 
The best way is to stop the leader, and kill the whole 
plan in its infancy. With one man out of the way, 
the whole thing will go to pieces. This man needs 
a lesson. Shall we give it to him ?” 

“Yes,” was the reply. 

A small man at the rear of the crowd asked: 
“Who is this fellow ?” 

“Who is he? Why, it’s that white-livered 
French Indian, Jean Carroll. I thought you all knew 
who I meant.” 

“Jean Carroll? Why he seems like a peaceful fel- 
low.” 

[265]. 


3feait Carroll 

“Yes, he seems peaceful enough, but he has got 
to be looked after, if I have to do it myself. If he’s 
let alone, our necks won’t be safe long.” 

“Well, I’m as ready as any of you to give him a 
couple of hundred, but we’ll hurt the cause if it’s 
done without an excuse. We’ve already lost the 
help of some of our best members by useless acts.” 

“Let such men as are afraid of him go back. 
They’re too afraid he’ll hurt some one to suit me. 
But we’ve got a good excuse. Suspicion points to 
Carroll as the murderer of the stranger. He came 
up with his rifle just after the shooting, and we can 
charge him with the crime and compel him to leave 
the country. He’ll gladly leave to get away from 
such a charge and the disgrace of a whipping.” 

“That’s a mighty poor excuse, for everybody 
knows he’s innocent ; and he may leave the country, 
but he’ll do it a corpse. He’s not the kind that gives 
up without a fight.” 

“Well, I don’t give a damn how he fights; we’re 
going to thrash him. When will we do it, boys?” 

“Let’s do it to-night,” said a tall, lank fellow, 
whose brown jean pants stopped clear of his socks, 
as he sat astride of a burry-tailed pony. “I’m just 
achin’ to get a-holt of some fine-haired chap. Let’s 
start now.” 

“All right, Jim, to-night it shall be, and we’d bet- 
ter be going, for it’s ten long miles from here, and 
you boys all want to be home by daylight. Mount, 
boys, let’s push on, and by midnight we’ll lay three 
hundred hot ones on the fine gentleman’s back. 
We’ll lay the plans as we go.” 

[266] 


3f e a n Carroll 

The horsemen rode away up the canon, and Jean 
slipped back from the bluff, hardly believing his 
ears. These men, he knew, were going to his home 
to whip him. What must he do? He was far from 
home. They could not find him, but would they 
not destroy his property. Yes, he must be there 
and take his chances. But how? He was afoot; 
the Bald-knobbers were well mounted. Yet — he 
must beat them home. 

He listened. The horses were climbing the hill 
out of the canon toward the road, which followed 
the ridge to the north. He took off his coat and 
laid it in the forks of a tree, tightened his belt and 
turned his face to the west. The moon was just 
sinking over the pine tops on the distant hills; the 
hoof beats had died away in the distance. 

Jean threw back his shoulders, snuffed the air, 
like a deer when he scents the chase, pulled himself 
together and set off at a long, swinging step down 
the hillside, straight through the forest toward 
home. From a smooth-faced dreamer he had grad- 
ually changed to the rugged features of a warrior, 
with narrow, piercing eyes and furrowed brow, and 
as the pace increased the lines of his face hardened 
until the tenseness was painful. Watumska’s blood 
was telling. The savage was again on the warpath. 

On the top of the first ridge Jean stopped an 
instant to listen, but the hoof beats, as they followed 
the road, were too far away to be heard, and he 
swung off again with a still longer stride, down the 
long slope toward Beaver, and before the first hour 
had passed the runner had reached the crest of 
[267] 


3featt Carroll 

Beaverhill. The horsemen were crossing the creek, 
half a mile away. 

Six long miles yet to go! The runner increased 
his pace. With head lowered and body extended 
forward, the race against time began. Without a 
halt he passed down the slope to the creek, crossed 
it where he struck it, and, wet to the knees, climbed 
the long, steep hill beyond. He did not have to 
stop to hear the horses now. They were clattering 
up the rocky road a half mile to the north. 

As Jean neared the crest of the long slope his 
breath came in quick, choking gasps, and burned its 
way into his lungs like living flames, but he did not 
halt. He was even with the riders now, and must 
lead them on. Down the sloping ridge, four miles 
long, he sped. The moon had gone to rest, but the 
stars in the sky resembled balls of fire. The trees as 
he passed appeared like shadows. The road lost its 
roughness; the pain left his lungs. He was run- 
ning, still running, but as if in a dream; and, in 
this condition he reached home, locked and barred 
the doors and windows, and crept into the shelter 
of the shrubbery near the gate to wait. But the 
man that waited was not Jean Carroll; it was a 
demon — a demon with bloodshot eyes, grinning 
teeth and quivering nostrils that waited for the 
horsemen. 


[268] 












THE FIGHT 









CHAPTER XXIV 


THE FIGHT 

O NLY a few minutes elapsed before there came 
down from the hill the noise of hoofs. The 
riders were still pushing their horses, even 
to a sharp canter, down the steep grade. 

The short lead had given Jean a much-needed 
rest, and as he heard the horses coming he crept 
deeper under the foliage of the shrubs and awaited 
their arrival. When nearly down the hill the hoof 
beats stopped. The riders dismounted and tied 
their horses in a cluster of pines. They preferred 
to steal upon their victim as he slept, even if they 
were a dozen to one. The one might hurt some one. 

With the patience of a savage Jean waited. Every 
muscle tense, like a panther ready for its spring; 
eyes and ears strained for the least sign or sound. 
He had not long to wait. Soon the first of the men, 
stepping lightly on tiptoe, came toward the gate; 
their faces masked and their rifles ready for action. 
The others followed and a whispered consultation 
was held. 

As Jean saw the number and strength of his 
enemies his better nature told him that it would be 
wiser to steal away. Told him that all chances were 
against him if he remained and resisted; and that a 
[271] 


3!ean Carroll 

failure to find him might satisfy the clan. That to 
stay and submit meant humiliation, and to stay and 
resist most likely meant death. Still he was power- 
less to move. A force within him, stronger than 
his will power, stronger than his thoughts, stronger 
than his life itself, compelled him to remain. Only 
one time did that impulse weaken. He thought of 
Ula Dean, and wondered what she would have him 
do, and as he thought his face softened — life was 
still sweet. But at that instant the men began to 
steal through the gate, and the chance was gone. 
Jean, the savage, and not Jean, the lover, controlled. 
He drew a black silk handkerchief from his pocket, 
masked his face and joined the crowd. 

The house was completely encircled, and all grad- 
ually gathered in ; one or more at each door or win- 
dow. Jean took his place with those at the front 
door. The leader was here, big, strong and com- 
manding, with his broad black hat pushed back on 
his head; he looked fully what he was — a bully. 
Jean walked close up to his side; so close that he 
could have thrust a knife into his heart, but that 
would not satisfy. He craved Bud Jones’ downfall, 
even his life, but his enemy must know who struck; 
must face his doom before it befell him. He kept 
close to Bud’s side and waited with whirling brain 
and gnashing teeth. 

One of the men stepped to the door and rapped, 
waited a few seconds and rapped again, this time 
louder than before. Then Bud Jones, with an air 
of bravado, stepped to the door, struck it a blow 
with his fist that made it rattle on its hinges, and in 
[272] 



He clasped her in his great, strong arms and pressed the 
golden crowned head to his bosom. 

(Jean Carroll.) — P. 373. 









































































. 








. 










































































































































3fean Carroll 

a loud voice called: “Jean Carroll, open the door 
and answer for your crimes. Playing baby won’t 
save you this time.” 

Jean had crowded up close to Bud. At Bud’s first 
word those near saw something was wrong, but did 
not understand what. They saw the man’s fingers 
working and his eyes flashing above his mask. As 
Bud turned from the door, jean faced him. With 
one hand he jerked the mask from Bud’s face; with 
the other he unmasked his own. Then for an 
awful instant they stood; Jean’s eyes flashing hatred 
and revenge, Bud’s face showing wonder, amaze- 
ment and fear. 

In a strangely quiet voice Jean said : “Here I am, 
Bud Jones, ready to answer you, and this is my 
answer.” With his open hand he slapped the big 
leader fair in the face, and, before he could recover, 
slapped him again and spit upon him. 

Bud’s followers had all been cowed by Jean’s sud- 
den appearance, but at the second blow, one of them 
reached up and caught Jean’s left arm. A sweeping 
blow and the man fell backward to lay unconscious 
with a broken jaw. 

This interruption gave Bud time to think. He 
raised his revolver to fire, but Jean struck it up and 
sent the weapon flying across the yard, then the two 
men clinched. 

For an instant they grappled, then they writhed 
and twisted and turned so fast that neither could 
be distinguished from the other. The men from 
other parts of the yard, hearing the noise, rushed to 
the scene, but if they had tried to interfere they 

[273] 


3[ean Carroll 

could not have known where to strike, so swift were 
the movements of the combatants. But they did not 
try to interfere; they forgot to act. These men of 
the woods, who had seen strong men fight many 
times, stood awed in the presence of the terrible 
conflict. They forgot everything except that two 
powerful men were in a struggle for mastery. There, 
under the dim light of the peaceful stars, was again 
being fought the battle of all the ages — might 
against right. 

Gradually the movements of the men began to 
show a purpose. The smaller man was striving 
with all his might to clasp the other; Jones was 
striving equally as hard to break away so he could 
strike a blow. He continued to try to hit Jean’s 
head and face, but at every attempt Jean crept 
in closer and closer, until at last, with a twist and 
shove, he locked his hands behind Bud’s back. 

In the dim starlight, those standing near saw a 
smile of victory pass over Jean’s face; the smile of 
the Indian warrior as he grasps the scalplock of 
his enemy. For an instant he paused, then slowly 
but surely the powerful arms tightened about the 
big leader. Tightened until Bud’s mouth opened. 
Tightened until his eyes seemed bursting from their 
sockets. Bud gasped for help, but too late. A 
wrench; a twist, a shove, and he toppled backward 
with a scream of pain, blood dripping from his lips, 
and with several broken ribs. 

Jean stepped free and turned in time to meet 
the rush of the others as they sprang at him. They 
had at last remembered their part. Jean struck 
[ 271 ] 


31 e a n Carroll 

out; struck without looking; walking forward at 
every blow. Man after man went down before his 
strong arms. Jean was almost clear. Bud had 
crawled to where his pistol lay, and raising it, 
fired. Jean felt a stinging pain, and at the same 
instant they closed on him from behind and pinned 
him to the ground. He felt the blood trickling 
down his left side, but knew it was not serious, 
for the stinging pain continued and there was no 
dead feeling. 

The men bound him hand and foot and laid him 
on the grass, awaiting the command of the leader. 

Many of the men had lost their masks and Jean 
recognized them as men from the eastern part of 
the county. Men who knew nothing of the right 
or wrong of the charge upon which they were to 
chastise him. 

Bud slowly raised himself from the ground, pale 
and groaning. 

“Here is our man, captain,” said the tall man. 
“What shall we do with him?” 

“Tie him to a tree and cut out his heart with a 

blacksnake. For a little I’d shoot his d d brains 

out as he lies. But it’ll be better to hear him beg.” 


[27s] 









THE ESCAPE 







I 

I 


I 









CHAPTER XXV 


THE ESCAPE 

A T Bud’s command the men gathered about 
Jean to carry him to the woods for punish- 
ment, many of them cursing and groaning 
from the effects of the recent struggle. 

“Untie his feet and make him walk,” commanded 
Bud. “If he starts to run, shoot him.” 

They moved off toward the horses, but one man 
did not follow. As the others started, he raised 
himself upon his elbow, on the end of the porch, 
where he had fallen, but gasped and fell back with 
a groan, with the sweat of death upon him. 

“Wait, boys, Bill’s bad hurt,” said one. His 
comrades ran to his side. They found him gasping 
for breath with an ugly bullet wound just above 
his left eye. 

“I’m done for, boys,” the dying man spoke; “I 
feel I’m going. Bud Jones hit me when he shot 
from the ground. I’m dying without God and 
without hope. I’ve been wrong, boys. This busi- 
ness of being hired to punish others is all wrong, 
and Bud Jones is to blame for it. He’s ruined our 
clan, injured and punished the innocent, and now 
he’s killed me. Jean has done no wrong. I know, 
for I was watching when the stranger was killed. 

[279] 


3iean Carroll 

Don't whip him, boys; Bud Jones needs the punish- 
ment.” 

The speaker again tried to raise himself, a look of 
horror overspread his face and he fell back, stran- 
gled and was dead. 

The masked men, hardened as they were, turned 
away with a shudder at the recital of their deeds, 
as it were, by the dead. 

Jean, his hands securely tied, stood by the gate, 
Bud on one side and one of the masked men on the 
other. He heard all, but seemed not to hear; saw 
all, but seemed not to see. The dying man’s state- 
ment but endangered the more his own life. Bud 
Jones could not now afford to let him escape. He 
expected in the next few moments to meet a horrible 
death. He had chosen his path ; had waited to meet 
these men, knowing the danger, and now even the 
promise of release could not wring from him a sin- 
gle concession. He would die, as many of his an- 
cestors had died before him, without a protest or 
murmur. 

When Bill Kryder’s spirit had taken its flight to 
that unknown realm, Bud commanded the men to 
come on. They came, six of them carrying the 
lifeless form of their comrade, the others following 
sluggishly behind, their actions saying louder than 
words, that they had lost all their interest in their 
work. 

The Bald-knobbers, with their prisoner and life- 
less burden, moved slowly up to where the horses 
were tied. At Bud’s command, the dead body was 
carried to one side, where one of the men covered 
[280] 


3!eatt Catroll 

the horrid features with a handkerchief. Jean was 
marched to a big pine tree, placed with his face to 
it, and a halter rein passed around his shoulders to 
hold him in place. 

The burly leader seemed more determined than 
ever that the punishment should go on. He gath- 
ered the long, heavy whip and raised it for the first 
stroke, when Jean twisted around, and looking him 
in the face, commanded: “Stop!” Bud was so sur- 
prised that he allowed the whip to stay in midair, 
but the next instant brought it down on the unpro- 
tected shoulders with all his might. 

The blow had an effect like a spark in a powder 
can. Jean leaned forward, shrugged his shoulders, 
gave a pull and snapped his bonds as if they had 
been twine. He turned in time to catch the whip 
on the second descent, pushed Bud back and gave 
him a stinging blow across his heavy, bloated face ; 
a stroke that cut to the bone and left its mark for 
life. Bud’s followers stood appalled, and, while 
their leader was blinded with blood and pain, Jean 
walked down the hill toward his home. 

The passion of the defeated leader knew no 
bounds. As soon as he recovered from the effects 
of the whip lash he jerked his pistol and pointed it 
at the retreating figure. He pressed the trigger, 
but as he did so the barrel was knocked up and he 
found himself looking down a steady weapon in the 
hands of Chris Ming, who had thrown aside his 
mask and braved the wrath of his irate leader. 

“Drop that, Bud Jones. You’ve committed one 
murder to-night; that’s enough,” Chris said. 

[281] 


3featt Carroll 

“How dare you interfere with me, Chris Ming! 
Am I leader here?” 

“You were leader, but no man can force me to 
stand and see an honest man shot in the back. You 
forced me into this trip, but I determined before T 
started to kill you before you should kill Jean Car- 
roll, and now I leave you. You can bulldoze me no 
longer.” 

“I can’t, eh ? What about the counterfeiting and 
other things? I guess I’ll have to tell what I know. 
It means life behind the bars for the tender-hearted 
gentleman. What’ll your gal’s dandy lover say to 
a jail-bird’s daughter?” 

“Bud Jones, you speak of my girl again and I’ll 
shoot. You may tell what you please about me, but 
you bother her, and I’ll kill you. Do you hear? 
Now, Bud Jones, I’m done with you. I’ll die before 
you shall lord it over me again. You bullied me 
into consenting for you to marry Mollie, and now 
you want me to stand by and see my best friend 
shot. Now I quit the clan; do to me what you 
will.” 

With these words Chris, with his pistol leveled 
at Bud’s heart, backed to where his horse was tied, 
mounted and rode toward home. 

As soon as Bud was from under the pistol he 
shouted: “Catch him, boys; he’ll give us away!” 

A few started slowly after him, but the main part 
of the clan did not move, and Chris was soon out 
of hearing. 

Jean had conquered and outdone the clan; but he 
[282] 


3[eatt Carroll 

could not rest. He passed by the farmhouse, only 
stopping to get a coat, and sought relief for his 
overwrought feelings by a tramp through the 
woods. 


[283] 






































THE VISION 





















« 

















< 










» 






































CHAPTER XXVI 


THE VISION 

N O sooner was Christ Ming gone than the gang 
rallied and started in pursuit, but they soon 
found that they could not catch him, and 
returned to where Bud stood, swearing and holding 
his smarting face. 

“Did you get him?” Bud asked. 

“No ; he got away,” answered one. 

“It may be as well. He won’t tell and we can 
look after him later, but we must have that cussed 
Indian. He’ll go straight after help, if he ever gets 
away. Half of you watch the horses, and the rest 
of us will go and get him.” 

Again the masked men slipped down the hill, and 
for the second time began to surround the house, 
but as Bud Jones and one of his followers crept 
around the corner they saw by the starlight a figure 
pass out through the garden gate into the orchard 
and across the meadow toward the woods. Bud 
cursed under his breath, and, quietly gathering his 
men, again prepared to follow. 

The men had overcome some of their awe at Bill 
Kryder’s death and parting words, and beginning to 
fear the result should Jean escape, were ready to 
obey any of Bud’s commands. 

[287] 


3[e art Carroll 

‘‘Boys,” said Bud, “he’s gone down across the 
meadow. Now, some of us must follow him 
through the fields while others hasten around by 
the road and intercept him by the creek. He must 
not get away. When you come up with him, see 
that he does not have another chance at us.” 

“All right,” the men answered, as several of them 
began to leave. 

Jean left the house by the way of the garden and 
down through the orchard and meadow. He did 
not fear the clan, but he would not put himself in 
their way. His enraged feelings drove him on, and 
he walked faster and faster as he went over in his 
mind the incidents of the night. What must he do? 
Bud Jones deserved death. But should he take the 
law in his own hands? He could not answer the 
question. 

He was still pondering the matter when he en- 
tered the woods below the meadow, and without 
thought as to where he was going, passed over the 
hill toward the Dean home. He came to the road 
near the house and followed it a short distance, 
wrapped in deep thought. He soon became aware 
that there was a light in an upper room. He looked 
up and stood entranced at the scene. 

Seated at a small table at the window, her head 
bending over as she wrote, sat the woman of his 
dreams. The rays of the shaded lamp fell on her 
fair young face. He looked again, and for the first 
time in days forgot his troubles. Forgot his dan- 
ger and, worst of all, forgot his accustomed cau- 
tion and watchfulness. The moment’s worship of 
[288] 


3f e a n Carroll 

the picture in the window proved his undoing. A 
stooping figure crept up stealthily behind him, a 
gun barrel swirled in the air and, without a strug- 
gle, Jean sank to the earth. 

Though Jean fell without a sound, some hidden 
power caused a shudder to pass through the form 
of the midnight writer, and she instinctively 
glanced out at the open window just in time to see 
the gleam of the gun barrel in the starlight, and 
then to see a number of forms dart out from the 
shadows, gather up the stricken man and hurry 
away through the woods above the spring. 

Ula uttered a piercing scream and sank to the 
floor unconscious. When the family had gathered, 
and, by dashing water into her face, had caused 
her slowly to recover, they thought her narrative 
only the result of a severe nightmare, and her 
mother wanted to send for a doctor at once. 

“No, mamma,” said Ula, “I don’t need a doctor; I 
am very well. If you will all go to bed we will say 
no more about it.” 

“That is right, Ula,” said Mrs. Dean. “We will 
go to bed, but I will stay with you to-night.” 

“All right, mamma,” and the men returned down- 
stairs while Mrs. Dean remained with her daugh- 
ter, but neither slept much, for Ula, believing she 
knew who the stricken man was, and knowing she 
saw no vision, could not sleep. 

Martin Rogers, who was more than half per- 
suaded that Ula had seen something, was neverthe- 
less greatly surprised to find, when he examined the 
road next morning, that there was the imprint of 

[289] 


31 e a ri Carroll 

a body in the dust, and many tracks leading up to 
and away from the place. He followed the tracks 
to where they turned into the woods above the 
spring. To keep from further exciting the family 
he said nothing about his find. 

Ula, although urged by her mother to remain 
quiet and rest next day, managed to slip out through 
the woods and over the hill above the spring, in 
the direction she had seen the men disappear the 
night before, expecting momentarily to find trace of 
their work, and fearing all the while that she would. 
When she returned to the house, after a fruitless 
search, she found Martin Rogers excitedly pacing 
the floor. 

“Why, Martin, what is the matter with you?” 
Ula cried. 

“Ula, I don’t know what to think. Read that,” 
and he handed her a small envelope containing a 
note. 

Ula took out the note and read it, then read it 
again, as if doubting her senses. It ran: 

“Mr. Martin Rogers, at home: 

“Dear Friend — For reasons I cannot now ex- 
plain, I find it necessary to terminate our engage- 
ment. It is but fair to say that no act of yours has 
caused my decision. Please do not try to see me 
again. Mollie Ming.” 

“What does she mean, Martin?” 

“I don’t know, Ula; she was in the best of spirits 
[290] 


31 e a n Carroll 

Sunday, when I saw her. I don’t know what to 
do.” 

“Why, I’d go at once and see her. She surely 
can’t mean that you are to see her no more.” 

“No, cousin; Mollie is a good, true girl. She 
wouldn’t have asked me not to try to see her if she 
had not meant it, and I will respect her wishes. 
But what am I to do ; my plans were all made, and 
we were to be married this winter?” 

“Martin, we must accept things as they come, and 
hope that all will be right in the end. Oh, what 
trouble this country is seeing now. Jean’s friend 
was killed three days ago, and the man I saw last 
night — I know I wasn’t mistaken; I saw a man 
killed. I almost scream now as I think of it. I 
gave up last night to please mother, but I know.” 

“It is bad, Ula; but things will be better after the 
election. A Law and Order ticket was nominated 
yesterday. The boys say that Jean caused it. He 
went from the funeral to the political rally, and 
made such a stirring speech that nearly all the crowd 
joined in nominating the independent ticket. Frank 
Jackson was nominated for sheriff. He’s sure to 
be elected.” 

“I hope he will, for he’ll make a good officer. 
When have you seen Jean, Martin?” 

“I saw him at the funeral, but did not get to 
speak to him. He looked awfully broken up.” 

“I wish that I could see him ; I’d try to cheer him 
up. You ought to go to see him this afternoon, 
Martin.” 


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“I will, Ula, if you will go to see Mollie and 
tell her I will respect her wishes, but will always be 
ready to come when she can see me again.” 

‘Til go right away. I know she will tell me all 
she can about what is the matter.” 


[292]! 


THE CAPTURE 









s 


r 


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CHAPTER XXVII 


THE CAPTURE 

T HERE are various traditions as to the origin 
of the name of “Dead Man’s Cave, ,, among 
them being the story of a hunter of early 
days, who attempted to follow a bear into the pit. 
He had tried to reach a shelf, which made the first 
landing in the almost perpendicular wall, by climb- 
ing down a grapevine tied to a sapling on the brink. 
The vine did not reach low enough, but the hunter 
climbed down to the end and dropped the short dis- 
tance to the ledge. He was never able to regain 
his improvised ladder. Weeks later the mouldering 
form was found, seated on this ledge, its shrunken 
head thrown back against the wall, its lustreless 
eyes gazing at the circle of light above. The hunter 
had died of hunger and thirst waiting for help. 
The body had been partly covered with dirt dropped 
from above. 

There was another story of a stockman who had 
been strangled by his partner, and his body 
dropped into the pit. The body had rolled over the 
edge of the shelf and out of sight, but for weeks 
afterward passersby could hear the murdered man’s 
spirit calling to them for help. 

These stories, with the belief that the cave was 

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still haunted, made the spot a shunned place by all 
the natives, and mothers frightened their children 
by telling them ghost stories of Dead Man’s cave. 
Many knew the location of the cave, but its charac- 
ter and depth was known only to the extent that its 
walls could not be climbed. 

The people of the Ozarks, like all people who live 
far apart and much alone, were superstitious. In 
their loneliness, they peopled all the waste places 
with imaginary beings, and later became frightened 
at their creations. Even the men of the neighbor- 
hood avoided Dead Man’s cave, especially after 
dark. 

When Bud Jones and his men found that Jean 
had started across the lower pasture from his home 
some of them followed him, while others, with 
Bud, hurried to the fence and around the road to 
where they thought he would likely pass. A part 
of the men stopped here, while Bud and a few 
others slipped on ahead and hid themselves by the 
roadside. 

Jean passed the men by the fence without their 
detecting his presence, and was near Bud and the 
others when the latter heard his footsteps and fol- 
lowed along the road. His steps were easily heard 
in the thick bed of leaves that covered the ground, 
while theirs were almost inaudible in the dusty 
road. They did not dare to allow Jean to hear 
them, for they knew he would be armed and that 
he never missed his mark. 

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3leait Carroll 

Bud and his men followed on and on. At last 
Jean stepped into the road, but did not look behind, 
and, when he stopped, Bud saw his chance. It was 
not best to shoot so near the Dean dwelling, but the 
men covered Jean with their rifles while Bud slipped 
forward. Jean continued to gaze at the form by 
the window. Bud crept closer and drew back his 
rifle for the blow. 

A false step, a slip of any kind, and Bud knew 
his life would likely pay the penalty. But there was 
no slip. Jean stood still, buried in thought, and the 
blow was struck. 

Ula’s scream and the flash of lights in the win- 
dows frightened the men, and some of them sprang 
forward, gathered up the stricken man and hurried 
into the woods. They pushed on through the brush, 
and did not stop until the top of the hill above the 
spring had been reached. Here the carriers laid 
their burden down. 

“What a heavy man,” said one. “No wonder he 
could fight.” 

“Damn him, he’s done fighting now,” said Bud; 
“unless he fights the fiends in hell. What shall we 
do with him, boys?” 

“Let’s leave him right here,” said Skinny Mur- 
phy. “It’s as good a place as we can find. He’s 
hard to carry.” 

“Yes; you’d leave him here to be found the first 
thing in the morning, and then Chris Ming would 
report us before we could get him. Chris knows 
our ways, and will be hard to get without hurting 

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some one. What we want to do is to get the report 
out that Jean killed the stranger and has run away 
to keep from getting caught.” 

“Well, then we ought to take him to Granny 
Moon’s cave. No one would ever find him there,” 
said the tall fellow. 

“You’d play hell,” Bud snapped out. “Didn’t 
he and the stranger find us, and for all we know 
they’ve already reported us. Besides, we don’t want 
any rottin’ carcass around there.” 

“Let’s take the body over into Bug-a-boo canon,” 
suggested another. “No one ever goes there.” 

“That’s too far to carry him,” spoke up one who 
had helped to carry the body up the hill ; “he pulls 
down awful. Ah, I say, boys, I have it. Let’s drop 
him into Dead Man’s cave; it’s right here ready at 
hand, as the preacher would say. We’ll drop him 
in there and then start the report that he has run 
away for killing the stranger.” 

“Well, let’s drop him in,” said an old grizzled 
fellow. “The sight of him lying there makes me 
creepy. His eyes look like they’re seein’ us, an’ 
then some one might pass.” 

This idea made every one move, and Bud said: 
“All right, boys, I believe the cave’s the best place. 
Gather him up and come on.” 

The men lifted the body by its arms and legs, car- 
ried it to the cave, pushed it over the brink and hur- 
ried back. 

“Now, boys, let’s get back to the others,” said 
Bud, and all started across the hill to where the 
horses were tied. 


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3[ean Carroll 

When all the men were together again Bud said : 
“Boys, we’ve been in hard luck to-night, but things 
will be better now. That damned Indian is out of 
the way for good and all. What we want to do is 
to keep this night’s work quiet and beat that ticket 
that was put out yesterday. Then all will be well. 

“Jim Harvey, you take Bill Kryder’s body home, 
and tell his widow he was accidentally shot while 
you were coon hunting together. That will keep 
all suspicion down. 

“Now, all of you get your horses and scatter, and 
remember you are to think that Jean killed the 
stranger and skipped for fear he’d be caught. Don’t 
spread it on too thick or you’ll betray yourselves. 
Tim Crawford has been to Springfield and will be 
back to-morrow. I’ll get him to tell about seeing 
Jean nearly there as he started home. That will 
get all to looking that way, and will help to quiet 
Chris Ming, for Chris will think that at last Jean 
was scared out. We’d better let Chris alone until 
he quits watching so closely. He won’t tell, if noth- 
ing more comes up. 

“Boys, help Jim tie Bill’s body on his horse. All 
get your horses and git, till I notify you.” 

Jean had received a very heavy blow, but it had 
not struck him squarely, and the skull was not frac- 
tured. He had been unconscious while being car- 
ried away, but the jolt when they dropped him on 
the ground revived him. He was very weak and 
could scarcely have moved had he tried. He heard 
the conversation about him, but it was several min- 
utes before he regained consciousness sufficiently on 

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3Ieart CatroU 

understand. When he realized who the men were 
he knew his only chance to escape was to seem to 
he dead, and without a movement he suffered them 
to carry him to the cave and drop him into the dis- 
mal pit. He felt the rush of air as he fell — then 
all was darkness. 

When he opened his eyes he found himself rest- 
ing upon a soft bed of earth and decayed leaves — 
the hunter’s grave. He raised himself and could 
see objects around him dimly. He felt of himself, 
and found that he was badly bruised about the body 
and had a severe wound on the head, but no bones 
were broken. The wound brought back his mem- 
ory, and he began to realize what had happened. 

He was in Dead Man’s cave, but he was alive, 
and surely some one would come along and rescue 
him. He felt very dizzy and leaned back against 
the soft earth and was soon asleep. 


THE HURRIED CALL 






CHAPTER XXVIII 

THE HURRIED CALL 

W HEN Chris Ming escaped from the Bald- 
knobbers, after defying Bud Jones and the 
clan, he went at once to the homes of other 
members that he knew opposed Bud’s methods, that 
he might notify them of what he had done. They 
all agreed to stand by Chris in his position, and to 
join together for mutual protection should Bud try 
to force them into unlawful acts. It was afternoon 
when he reached home. 

When he came in sight of home he saw Mollie 
in the garden, caring for some flowers. Tears were 
running down her cheeks, but she brushed them 
away and tried to look cheerful when she saw her 
father approaching. 

“Oh, daddy,” she cried, “where have you been 
all night and all day? Did you find the cattle?” 

“I’ve not been hunting cattle, little girl ; but I’ve 
had lots of trouble. I hope it’s all over now. Sit 
down here and let me tell you something about it.” 

They sat down on a log at the woodpile, the 
roughly-clad, bronzed-featured mountaineer and his 
fair daughter, a resemblance in every feature, but 
with all the father’s characteristics softened by 
youth and womanhood. 

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3featt Carroll 

“Now what is it that has been troubling you, 
daddy?” 

“Mollie, it’s Bud Jones and his doings that’s been 
troubling me. Bud is a bad man, and I’m ashamed 
that I tried to get you to be kind to him, but you 
need do so no more. 

“There’s been some crimes committed in the past 
that, although I was innocent of them, Bud has 
threatened to swear I had committed. I know he 
could prove anything on me that he tried, for he 
has some fellows that will swear to whatever he 
says. This commenced several years ago, and, he 
has been using his threats to drive me into different 
acts ever since. 

“I have obeyed his orders and been his tool to 
save you and your mother the disgrace of having a 
father and husband in the penitentiary, for with the 
county officers on his side he could easily swear me 
into prison. He made me tell you to stop Martin 
Rogers coming here, and I almost rebelled, but I 
gave in, knowing I needed to be where I could watch 
him for a while longer ; but last night I defied him 
and now I am free. They may send me to the peni- 
tentiary — they will if they dare — but if I go, I will 
go innocent. Did I do right, Mollie?” 

“Of course you did, you dear old daddy,” and 
Mollie threw her arms about his neck and kissed 
his roughened cheek. “Of course you did right. 
Why should you suffer such treatment and I not 
share it? It would be more disgraceful to asso- 
ciate with such a man than to be an innocent con- 

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31 e a n Carrol! 

vict’s daughter. But we’ll not let him send you to 
prison. We’ll have new officers after the election, 
and then you’ll get justice.” 

“I hope so, little girl; it’s been a long time com- 
ing. But I’m glad I'm done with Bud Jones, and 
if anything comes up, Mollie, remember that no 
matter what they prove, your old dad has always 
done his best.” 

“I know you have. I’ve known you were both- 
ered a long time and wanted to help you. Now 
that I know what it is I can. Don’t you be afraid 
I will ever doubt what you have told me. Some- 
thing seems to tell me things will be better now.” 

“I hope so, and now, little girl, you may let your 
friend come when he wishes, for I want to see you 
happy again.” 

“Oh, you dear old daddy, you’ve made me so 
happy now. I know everything will turn out bet- 
ter.” 

“I think so, but Bud is a bad man. I am not go- 
ing to do anything, unless he commences on me; 
but if he comes, I’ll give him the best I’ve got.” 

“I know he’s a bad man. Oh, how I hate him.” 

“Yes, Mollie; but hating will do no good. Now 
go ahead and finish your flowers, and let me hear a 
song instead of seeing tears.” 

“I’m not going to work any more; I feel too 
happy. I’m going to write some.” 

Seated at the window, where the summer breeze 
could fan her cheek and she could hear it singing 
its soothing lullaby through the pines, Mollie tried 

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3f ean Carroll 

to compose a note to Martin Rogers that would 
express her feelings, but no words seemed good 
enough, and she only wrote : 

“Dear Friend — The trouble is all over and I will 
be so glad to see you any time. 

“Your loving 

“Mollie.” 

Just as the note was finished Ula Dean came to 
the gate and Mollie ran to greet her. 

“Oh, Ula, I’m so glad to see you/’ Mollie ex- 
claimed. “I’ve something good to tell you.” 

“Fm glad to see you so happy, Mollie. Tell me 
what the good news is.” 

“Did Mr. Rogers tell you about the note this 
morning ?” 

“Yes, dear; and what was the matter?” 

“I can’t tell now, Ula; but it’s all past. I have 
just written him another note. Here it is.” 

Ula read the note, then gathered Mollie in her 
arms, as she said : “You dear girl ; how happy Mar- 
tin will be, and you can still be my cousin and my 
sister, too.” 

“Was Martin mad at me, Ula?” 

“No; he was just puzzled and hurt. He will be 
sure to come over to-night. He’s gone over to see 
Jean now. Have you seen Jean lately?” 

“No; I haven’t seen him for a long time to talk 
to him; I do hope he will come over with Martin. 
If he does come you must come, too.” 

“No; I couldn’t do that, Mollie,” but she looked 

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3[ean Carroll 

away toward the great forest that Jean loved so 
well, with a longing expression in her tender blue 
eyes. 

The two friends, seated on the edge of the shady 
porch, talked for an hour or more, making plans 
for the future, and discussing the recent troubles 
of the neighborhood, yet neither of them had heard, 
or was soon to hear, of the attack on Jean at his 
home. 

At length Ula glanced at the lowering sun and, 
rising, said: “Mollie, it’s getting late, and I must 
go, but you go home with me.” 

“No; but I’ll go a pieceway with you if mother 
doesn’t care. Mother,” she called, “I’m going a 
pieceway with Ula.” 

“All right, Mollie; but don’t be gone after night.” 

Arm in arm the two girls walked down the road 
through the murmuring pines, Mollie accompanying 
her visitor part of the way home, as is the custom 
in the Ozark country. 

“Ula, will you give my little note to Martin?” 

“Of course I will. I’m so glad to get to carry 
such good news.” 

They walked slowly down the winding road, each 
busy with her own thoughts, when Mollie stopped 
her companion, saying: 

“Wait, Ula; I hear horses’ feet.” 

Ula listened. “No, Mollie; it’s your own heart 
beating; you’re too happy.” 

“No ; I hear a horse’s feet.” 

“Yes, so do I now, Mollie. What shall we do?” 

“Maybe it’s Jean. Let’s wait and see.” 

[3°7l 


3[ean Carroll 

Soon the rider came into view. It was Sam Mil- 
ler. “Good evening, girls,” he called to them. 
“What a fine evening for a stroll. I wish I could 
stop with you, but it’s getting late and I must push 
on. Have you heard the latest news?” 

“No; what is it?” both cried together. 

“Jean Carroll has left the country. Tim Craw- 
ford met him this morning nearly twenty miles 
from here, headed for Springfield. Some think 
there’s something wrong, but I don’t believe it. I 
think he’s only wanting to rest up a little after the 
trouble he’s had. Poor fellow ; I hope he will soon 
be back again his old self. His leaving will hurt 
the Independent ticket. I, for one, believe Jean is 
all right,” and Sam rode on. 

Ula turned pale at Sam’s words, and Mollie no- 
ticed that she shuddered, but she controlled herself 
until Sam was gone, then she gave way, and, plac- 
ing her head on Mollie’s shoulder, burst into tears. 
“Mollie, I feel that something’s happened to Jean. 
I’m so lonesome.” 

“Don’t cry, Ula. I know how you feel, for I’ve 
just been through it all; but the sun is shining now 
for me, and it will soon shine for you.” 

“I can’t keep from crying, Mollie. I don’t be- 
lieve Jean’s gone; I’m afraid some one has injured 
him. But I must go now. Good-by.” 

“Good-by, Ula. I hope to see you to-morrow,” 
and Mollie turned and started toward her own 
home. 

Ula hurried on through the darkening shadows. 
For the first time she felt frightened at the forest. 

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31 e a n Catroll 

The wind was rising and the pines seemed to play 
a funeral dirge. She looked around to assure her- 
self that it was the woods she knew and loved, but 
look where she would she saw the dim outline of 
the face in the starlight — the gentle, but strong 
face and the broad, strong shoulders, and then the 
cruel blow. She shuddered and stopped at the 
vision, then, closing her eyes to all except the foot- 
path, she walked faster and faster until she was 
soon running toward home. 

When she came in sight of the house the family 
carriage was standing at the gate. A rider had 
come from Springfield w r ith a message that her 
Grandfather Dean was on his deathbed in far- 
away Virginia, and all except Martin were to start 
at once for Springfield to take the morning train 
for the East. 

All were ready except herself, and Ula hastened 
into the house to prepare for the journey. When 
she came out she said: “Father, where is Martin ?” 

“He had to go after some of the cattle that had 
strayed. He said for me to bid you good-by for 
him.” 

“I wanted to see him very much. Must we start 
before his return?” 

“Yes, Ula; we’ve no time to lose if we catch the 
train, and it means a day earlier, and possibly the 
only chance to see father alive.” 

“Who is going to stay in the house ?” 

“May and Ben are going to stay while we are 
gone. They will come in the morning.” 

“All right, father. I’ll be ready in a minute,” and 

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3[eatt Carroll 

she ran hastily back into the house and to Martin’s 
room. Taking Mollie’s note, and writing on a large 
sheet of paper the words: “Here is a note from 
Mollie,” she pinned them to the cloth on Martin’s 
table. The door was locked, and with a sad heart 
she climbed into the rear seat and was driven away 
on the long night’s ride. 

Her face brightened a little as she thought of the 
report that Jean had gone to Springfield and she 
might see him. But her spirits soon fell. She could 
not believe him gone, for she felt it was he that she 
saw from her window. 

They caught the morning train for the East. 
Three weeks later, dressed in mourning, she re- 
turned to her mountain home. 


i 


[310] 


IN DEAD MAN’S CAVE 
























CHAPTER XXIX 


IN DEAD MAN’S CAVE 

W HEN Jean awoke the second time in the cave 
it was dark all around and he knew it was 
night again. He was still confused, but 
after stretching himself, his mind cleared and he 
knew where he was. He felt in his pocket for a 
match, struck it and looked at his watch. It had 
stopped. The match burned up and scorched his 
fingers. He threw it down and it rolled over the 
edge of the shelf on which he lay. He watched 
it as it went down, down many feet, revealing a 
large cavern as it fell. He instinctively drew back 
from the edge and reached for another match. 
There were only two in his pocket. He selected 
one, but thought better of his act before lighting it, 
and put it back in his pocket with the other. Then 
he set himself patiently to await the coming of day. 
The wait was a long one, and gave him plenty of 
time for reflection on his condition. 

He was positive he was in Dead Man’s cave. He 
was equally positive that no one who knew of his 
plight would come to his aid, and he reasoned 
should those who knew about him come, would they 
not try to kill him instead of save him? 

He was still pondering in his mind the probability 

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3fean Carroll 

of his discovery by some one that would help him, 
when he noticed that he could dimly see the walls 
of his underground prison, and looking up found it 
was daylight overhead. He guessed it was six 
o’clock, wound and set his watch and felt far less 
lonesome when he could hear its familiar “tick, 
tick” in his vest pocket. 

By this time the cavern was light enough for him 
to see his surroundings. He found the place on 
which he rested to be a break in the wall of the cav- 
ern about thirty feet from the top, and that the 
walls above him were straight and smooth all the 
way down. The bench was about six feet square, 
and sloped gently toward the side of the ledge over 
which he had thrown the match. On the bench was 
a heavy bed of leaf mould, damp and soft, and 
showing, from the coloring on the wall, that at 
some time it had contained more of the mould, 
which had slipped off into the cavern not long be- 
fore. Scattered about and protruding here and 
there from the mould were the decayed bones of 
some large animal, or a man, and Jean shuddered 
as he remembered the story of the bear hunter of 
long ago. 

As soon as the sun had reached a point where its 
rays struck the walls of the shaft, Jean began to 
explore his prison, for as such he now recognized it. 
He found that on three sides of the shaft were solid 
walls, but that on the fourth side there was a large, 
steep passage, which led down the side of a huge 
cavern. The walls of the lower cavern were al- 
most perpendicular on the left, but directly along 

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3[eait Carroll 

the right side of the shelf was a steep, stony sur- 
face, with cracks and crevices and loose, broken 
stone, like the crater of an extinct volcano. 

The light did not penetrate far down this rough 
stairway, but Jean determined to explore it as a pos- 
sible means of escape, and with the hope of finding 
water, for his wounds were causing a maddening 
thirst. He crawled slowly to the edge of the shelf, 
let himself cautiously over and began to climb down 
the rough incline. At first he could hardly drive 
himself into the unknown darkness, but his thirst 
spurred him on, and he climbed slowly down and 
down until all light failed him. 

By this time he was so fatigued with his climbing 
and so weak from his wounds and the lack of food 
and water, that he was forced to climb back to the 
ledge to rest. When he reached the bench he found 
the light almost gone. He looked at his watch. It 
was four o’clock. 

He lay down on the cool, soft mould and was 
soon fast asleep. He awoke, and it was another 
morning. His watch showed eight o’clock. His 
limbs were not so sore, and the wound on his head 
was much better, but his thirst was not relieved. 
Water! Water! If he only had water. 

He climbed over the edge of the shelf with the 
strength of despair, and in half an hour had reached 
the point that had taken half a day before. He had 
learned the way, and the fifty-foot incline did not 
seem so dreadful as on the day before. He pushed 
on down, but soon reached a point where, try as he 
would, he could not reach another foothold. The 

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3Iean Carroll 

descent had become perpendicular. He began to 
feel that his climbing had all been in vain. 

He stopped and studied long what he should 
do. While thus waiting, from out of the darkness 
of the cavern came a splash of water, as if a pebble 
had been tossed into a pool. He almost shouted 
for joy. Then doubts began to assail him. Was it 
a trick of his imagination? Was it a trick of the 
demon thirst that possessed him ? He listened long 
and carefully. Again he heard the splash, the de- 
licious splash of water. 

He almost felt that he was saved. Then came 
the stubborn fact : The water was deep in the cav- 
ern ; how could he reach it ? How reach the bottom 
of that pit of blackness alive? He thought of his 
matches, his meagre supply of two, but halted long 
before deciding to break his precious store. The 
water splashed again; the decision was made He 
took from his pocket the little bundle, unrolled the 
wrapping from the tiny sticks, worth many times 
their weight in gold, selected one, and putting the 
other in his pocketbook, placed it in an inside pocket 
and prepared to make a light He selected a smooth, 
dry stone, and gave the match a nervous scratch. It 
failed to ignite. He tried again, and this time the 
light burned up bright and clear. 

As the match blazed up a large cavern was re- 
vealed. It extended off beyond the rays of light. 
It also revealed that his stone stairway extended no 
farther, and that it was a sheer precipice of ten 
feet to the bottom of the pit. This bottom could be 

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31 e a it Carroll 

easily reached by a drop and jump, but once reached 
there was no way by which to return. 

Just as the match was almost burning his fingers 
he strained his eyes into the deeper darkness of the 
cave. In the centre was the smooth surface of a 
pool of water. The light failed, and all was dark- 
ness. 

Jean studied long and seriously before he decided 
what to do. By making the little leap he could 
quench his killing thirst, but the jump once made 
could not be changed ; it put him beyond all chance 
of escape from above. 

At the thought of escape he forgot his thirst and 
his hunger, and quickly climbed back to the ledge 
above, and lay down to wait for help to come. Oc- 
casionally he called as loud as he could, but he well 
knew no one could hear him, unless they were at 
the mouth of the cave. 

When night came on he again fell into a sleep, a 
restless and dream-troubled sleep, from which he 
awoke in the morning with a thirst that would not 
be quieted. He struggled with his desire for water 
for a short time, then hurriedly crawled down the 
stony stairway and dropped over the ledge to the 
floor beneath. All was absolute darkness, but he 
instinctively crawled toward the stream and drank 
till he could drink no more, then, without further 
moving, he lay down and slept peacefully. 

When he awoke Jean opened his eyes and tried to 
look around him. There was no ray of light. The 
thought that he was blind flashed over him, until 

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3[ean Carroll 

he remembered his leap and where he was in the 
cave. 

Jean’s savage ancestors had given him the dispo- 
sition to accept things as they came, without ques- 
tion, and to adapt himself to his circumstances. As 
soon as he had taken another drink from the cool 
stream, he began to examine his surroundings. He 
felt of his pocketbook. The precious match was 
safe. He tried the stream that flowed through the 
cave. It was a large stream, and flowed to his 
right. Then he remembered Hunter Jack’s story of 
the muddy spring, and wondered if the stream could 
be followed to safety. 

He now moved cautiously toward the point where 
he first landed, but, before leaving, he marked the 
point where he had slept with a large stone, and 
laid a line of stones as he crept forward. He moved 
slowly and carefully in his explorations, and hours 
had passed before the size of a large room had been 
fully examined. At last he reached a point where 
there was leaf mould and loose earth that had come 
from above. It contained the footprints where he 
had landed. Near by he found a round, smooth ob- 
ject. He picked it up and passed his hand over its 
surface. It was a man’s skull. He 'placed it care- 
fully down by the wall. He cast his eyes upward 
and saw, far up on the side of the cavern, the re- 
flection of a ray of light. It cheered his spirits. It 
gave him a starting point for exploring, and “there 
was light above.” 

At this point Jean gathered a large pile of stones, 
and so arranged them that he would know in which 
[318] 


3fean Carroll 

direction to look for the light, and from here fas- 
tened all the different points of the cave in his mind. 
For hours he had crawled about on the rough stone 
floor and had come back to his “watch tower” to 
sleep, when he thought of keeping track of the days. 
He at once sought and found a niche in the wall 
near by and placed therein three stones, to mark the 
days that had already passed, and thereafter each 
day, when he could first see the light’s reflection, he 
placed a stone in the niche. 

When the stones had been placed Jean again 
crawled back to his “watch tower” and lay down, 
and, although he was becoming weak from the lack 
of food, he soon fell into a sound sleep, and did not 
wake till the light was again on the wall. He 
marked the day by another stone, and set about fur- 
ther exploring his cave. 

When he started out he was surprised to find how 
much better he knew the way about his prison. He 
could already walk upright from his “tower” to the 
stream, counting the steps almost unconsciously. 

His first steps in exploration were to go around 
the walls of the cavern. He started out, walking 
slowly, one hand on the wall, the other guiding 
his front, carefully feeling the floor with his feet 
before stepping. He traveled this way for hours. 
He crossed the stream where it entered the cave, 
and recrossed it where it passed out. Where the 
stream left the cave there was an opening large 
enough to follow, but he passed it by, and was 
thinking he had better turn back when his foot 
touched a pile of stones. It was his “watch tower.” 

[3 X 9] 


3[ean Carroll 

The light had disappeared, and he lay down and 
slept again. 

He awoke. The light was in sight and a new 
stone was laid in the niche. 

He at once went to the outlet of the stream to ex- 
plore it, and found that a current of air was com- 
ing in at the opening. He felt that escape was at 
hand. He followed the stream several hundred feet, 
sometimes walking, at other times having to crawl 
to get through the narrow passage. At last he 
came to where the stream flowed through a small 
lateral crevice too narrow for him to follow. The 
bed was hard stone and had not been cut by the 
waterflow. In vain did he endeavor to find some 
way around the narrow point. No place could he 
find. 

While crawling through the stream with his arm 
reaching under to see if there was a possible 
place to make an opening, he thought he saw a 
gleam of light on the water. He dropped his head 
farther and, oh, joy! ahead was. a plain reflection 
of light upon the water’s surface. The point was 
far away, yet it was light — the glorious light of 
day. 

There could be no question now as to the stream 
he was following. It was the source of the Dean 
spring, sometimes called the Roaring Spring from 
the noise it made as it poured from the earth. 

Jean tried every way possible to pass the crevice, 
but to no avail. He could not pass the narrow cleft, 
and his hopes fell again. He turned back to his 
“watch tower” almost discouraged. 

[320] 


3[ean Carroll 

The ray of light had disappeared, another day 
had passed with no way of escape, and starvation 
fast reducing his strength. He lay down to sleep 
almost discouraged, and dreamed horrid dreams of 
demons tormenting him with food held just out of 
reach; but, despite the dreams, he awoke much re- 
freshed, and with new hopes in his heart. 

As he sat up before determining what to do, he 
heard a splash in the pool, the same splash he had 
heard while climbing down the stony stairway the 
second day. At once it entered his mind that there 
might be fish in the pool. Why had he not thought 
of that before? He was so excited he could hardly 
take the time to count the day with another stone. 

He hurried to where he knew was a large pool, 
but on his w T ay up the stream found a much smaller 
one. He stopped to explore it. He waited long and 
patiently for a sound. He knew that if the smaller 
pool contained fish, his chances for catching them 
would be much better than in the larger one. If he 
could only see ! If he could only see ! Why not use 
his precious match? It would never be needed worse, 
and he could arrange to keep the light awhile by 
using the leaves from his pocket Bible, Ula’s Christ- 
mas present. In this way he could keep the light 
ablaze until he could examine the big pool also. 

He took the little book from his pocket, where it 
had been carried since first received, hesitated and 
put it back. But the pangs of hunger overcame all 
else, and snatching the book out again, he hastily 
tore out a dozen pages, and folding them carefully 
into strips, prepared to light the match — the last 

[321] 


3Ieatt Carroll 

chance for a light until freedom was gained, or 
time for him was no more. 

The match was carefully taken from the pocket- 
book and preparations made for striking- it. The 
launching of a battleship is of no more importance 
to the builder than the striking of this match to 
Jean Carroll. Its lighting meant at least a saving 
of many hours of toil, and might mean life against 
death. With the feeling of the balloonist as he 
leaves the earth, or the diver as he enters the deep, 
Jean struck the match upon a stone. 

The match blazed up and scattered the darkness 
and brought good news. The pool was alive with 
small perchlike fish. Jean almost forgot the folded 
leaves of the book in contemplating this chance for 
food. When the match was burned low, he lighted 
one leaf after another and examined the larger pool. 
It was also teeming with fish. There was food in 
plenty, if he could only take it; and he would take 
it. As tne last taper burned down he looked around 
his cavern home almost lovingly. Would it be his 
last sight of things material ? 

The burning paper scorched his fingers. He 
dropped it into the stream, and, still burning, it 
floated off until it burned out. What if it had floated 
on without burning out? Might some one not see 
it? Yes, might they not see a paper dropped into 
the stream, a paper with a message upon it? The 
thought gave him new hope. A message might pass 
to the outer world, and here was food to support 
him until the message had been found. Yes, he 
would write. Would write at once, and was get- 
[322] 


3f e a tt Cattoll 

ting out the precious present again, when he re- 
membered it was night. He must wait until day- 
light. He put the book and pencil into his pocket 
and began to plan to catch the fish. 

His ancestral independence came now into play. 
For untold generations his grandfathers had been 
forced to wrench from Nature, regardless of cir- 
cumstances, a sustenance. The deer must be taken 
without a gun, and the fish without a hook. There 
was food in the pool; it was his place to get it. 
The fish in the pool must be caught. 

Jean pondered the best plan to follow. Three 
ways presented themselves: Get into the pool and 
catch the fish with his hands as they hid under 
stones; make a seine of a part of his clothing, which 
meant a serious waste, or to divert the channel out 
of the pool, dip it dry and have the fish in his power. 
He chose the latter plan, and at once began his 
work. 

He first built a stone wall across the stream above 
the little pool. It let the water through freely. 
Then he built a line of stones down one side of the 
pool and plastered them with mud. When this was 
finished, a large supply of mud was gathered, and, 
when all was ready, this was plastered over the 
first stone dam. The water swirled against the 
dam, turned aside and ran down outside the primi- 
time levee. The pool was cut off. 

Draining off the water was an easy, though slow 
task. He had no vessel, so used his hands, and in 
two or three hours began to feel the fish darting 
against his fingers. He caught one, killed it, cleaned 

[323] 


3[ean Carroll 

it, washed it in the running stream, and sat down 
to his first meal for days. The taste of the food 
made him ravenous. He almost snapped off the 
bites, eating flesh and bones alike. He wanted more, 
but denied himself, and turning some fresh water 
into the pool, crawled away to his bed. He slept 
the first real sleep since his imprisonment. He had 
food at his command and hope in his heart. 

He awoke in the morning to send his first mes- 
sage down the stream, a message written on a leaf 
of the precious Bible, and laden with a world of 
hope and fear. It was sent adrift with a prayer 
that a friend would find it. 

The blind learn to forget the loss of sight; the 
deaf the loss of hearing. Jean had become accus- 
tomed to the absolute darkness of his cavern home. 
He could now walk freely all about it. His wounds 
had healed, and with an abundance of food his 
strength had returned, and with it strong hope of 
being rescued. 

One day, while watching the ray of light high on 
the wall, it occurred to him that he might see it 
better if he was a little higher. He rolled a large 
stone to the place, and standing on this, saw the 
light much clearer, and, best of all, saw that it was 
possible to build a way to the foot of the stairway. 
He began his work at once, carrying stones and 
placing them one upon another. With work to do, 
the time passed swiftly. He planned his work in 
regular order : Catch his food early in the morning, 
then send a message down the stream, build on his 

[324] 


3fean Carroll 

pyramid till near nightfall, send another note, eat 
his supper and lie down to sleep. 

Slowly the pyramid reared its head until within 
ten days after awaking in the cave, Jean reached 
the foot of the stone stairway and climbed into the 
dim light of the pit again. He at once began the 
building of a causeway up the wall of the pit. It 
was a terrible task, but light, liberty and life was 
the reward for success. 

Each day found the clumsy stairway a stone 
nearer the top, and each night and morning a mes- 
sage of hope was cast upon the stream. 


[325] 


THE ATTACK 























CHAPTER XXX 


THE ATTACK 

O NE afternoon in early fall Bert Hawley, ac- 
companied by his wife and little babe, came 
for an all-night visit with their neighbors, 
the Mings. Bert’s rugged face shone with pleas- 
ure as he held the infant prototype of himself out 
in his long arms for its inspection by his friends, 
saying : 

“How’s that for a fine baby, Chris?” 

“She’s a fine-looking girl. Does she cry much?” 
“Couldn’t pull a squall out of her with a cork- 
screw. She’s a regular little angel. Isn’t she, 
Cora?” 

“Yes; I think she’s the sweetest child in all the 
Bald-knob country.” 

The visitors and family had finished supper and 
were sitting near the small fire in the open fire- 
place discussing recent events, and among them the 
disappearance of Jean Carroll. Mollie, with some 
of the roses gone from her cheeks, was holding and 
petting the Hawley baby. 

“Bert,” said Chris, “I believe something has hap- 
pened to Jean Carroll. He’s not the kind of a man 
to abandon a bad job, and I know he never killed 

[329] 


31 c a it Carroll 

that stranger. It looks suspicious, the way some I 
know keep trying to throw that onto him.” 

‘‘That’s just what I think, Chris. At first, I 
thought he’d gone away on one of his long, still 
hunts, but he’s been gone too long. It’s three weeks 
since he left. We ought to get out a party and 
search for him.” 

“That’s what we ought to do, for I believe he’s 
been killed ; and, if he isn’t found in some way, the 
Independent ticket will be beaten. He started the 
move, and the other fellows are claiming now that 
his talk about the stranger being killed was done to 
cover his tracks. A search ought to be made for 
him, but I hate to lead it, for the Bald-knobbers are 
trying to get some excuse to punish me, and that 
might give them a chance. I say the Bald-knob- 
bers; I mean Bud Jones. He is determined to pick 
a quarrel with me; he insults me every time we 
meet. Some one killed Jim Lacy’s old horse, and 
I understand he’s charging me with it. I believe he 
killed it himself that he might have something to 
accuse me of. I know I have not wronged any one, 
and rest at that.” 

“Bud Jones doesn’t wait for one to do a wrong,” 
Bert spoke up. “If he wishes to injure them, he 
hunts for an excuse and rants about that. He’s get- 
ting awfully overbearing lately. He’s worse, they 
say, since Jean’s gone. I believe he was afraid of 
Jean.” 

“Yes; and well he might be. Jean is kind when 
he’s in a good humor, but he gets wild when his 
Indian blood is up.” 

[330] 


3featt Carroll 

“I wish he was here, so I could see his cheery 
face; it always made me feel better.” 

“I wish he was here, too,” Mollie quickly added, 
“for Ula Dean is coming home to-day, and I won’t 
know what to tell her when she asks me where 
Jean is. Ula didn’t believe that Jean was gone 
when she heard it.” 

“We have neglected a duty to a neighbor,” said 
Chris Ming, after a moment’s silence; “but, as I 
said, I didn’t feel like taking the lead.” 

“I’ll tell you what we should do, Chris. We 
should organize a searching party to-morrow, and 
see if we can learn anything about where Jean is. 
Let Bud Jones do what he will; we’ll give him no 
excuse to harm you. I’ll gather up the party.” 

“All right, Bert ; I’ll go as one, and we’ll see if we 
can find any evidence of foul play. I know of some- 
thing I could tell that looks suspicious. I perhaps 
ought to have told some of you before, but I thought 
it would only hasten trouble onto me without doing 
any good.” 

“Do you think the Bald-knobbers want to punish 
you, Chris?” 

“Yes; I know some of them want to punish me 
if they can only find an excuse. I look for them 
to call on me at any time and when they do they will 
find me ready. You see that gun behind the cur- 
tain? That’s a thirty-eight Winchester. It’s lcfng 
barreled and carries twenty rounds. I don’t want 
trouble, but I won’t stand for being whipped and 
beaten up before my family. I was a member of 
the clan for a long time, but I didn’t punish any 

[33 1 ] 


3[eait Carroll 

one that didn’t deserve it, and I’m not going to be 
punished without a fight.” 

“You don’t expect to fight the whole band single 
handed, do you, Chris?” 

“Yes; I expect to fight any one that I must to de- 
fend my home.” 

“But think, Chris; what if you should be killed? 
Think of your family.” 

“Yes; I want him to think of mamma and me,” 
Mollie again interrupted ; “and I know he will think 
he would rather we all died together than to suffer 
the shame of having daddy whipped as a criminal.” 

Chris looked lovingly toward his daughter as he 
said : “I hope they won’t come, but if they do come, 
I want them to stay outside.” 

“Well, Chris, if you use that Winchester, I don’t 
think you need be afraid. They certainly would re- 
spect it. I know if I ” 

“Hello! Hello!” came in sharp tones from the 
gate. Chris turned toward the gun; he knew the 
call — the Bald-knobbers had come. 

Bert started for the door, Chris, gun in hand, 
following him. Bert motioned Chris back and 
opened the door. 

“Hello!” he called. 

“Who’s there?” came in gruff tones. 

“This is Bert Hawley. What will you have ?” 

“Oh, you’re Hawley, who’s been so outspoken 
against the Bald-knobbers, are you? Well, Mr. 
Hawley, we are looking for Chris Ming, and we 
want Chris Ming, and you’d better send him out 

[332] 



The left hand reached over and caught the rope and then 
the broad shoulders slowly rose above the jet. 

(Jean Carroll.) — P. 332. 





3lean CattoU 1 

quick, or we’ll take you in his stead. Now move 
along.” 

‘Til move as I please,” Bert retorted hotly, “and 
you can take me if you like, but you will find you’ve 
got something you didn’t want when you get me.” 

“We will, eh? Bring him out, boys.” 

“No, you don’t,” came in a commanding voice, 
and Chris Ming appeared behind the level barrel of 
the big rifle. 

The Bald-knobbers were looking for this, and 
quickly stooped behind the rail fence. Then the 
leader gave the order to fire. There was a blaze 
along the fence, followed by screams from the house. 
In the midst of the turmoil the riders mounted their 
horses and galloped away. At the moment the 
smoke cleared, Chris’ rifle cracked again and again, 
and one of the men fell from his horse. The oth- 
ers escaped, leaving their comrade on the ground. 

When Chris turned from the door he found Bert 
Hawley lying on the floor with blood pouring from 
a wound in his shoulder. His wife was holding his 
head and trying to stop the flow. 

On the. floor near the fireplace lay Mollie, an ugly 
wound in her right side, while she held in her arms 
the Hawley baby, dead, with a bullet through its 
poor, little head. Mollie was unconscious, but alive. 

Bert was placed on one of the beds and Mollie 
on another, and Chris hurried to the McFaddens to 
get help and send for a doctor. 

One of the boys quickly mounted his swiftest 
horse and rode away to town. 

[333] 


3[ean Carroll 

When Chris returned to his home he found a 
number of the neighbors, who had heard the rapid 
shooting, had gathered in. One of them had dis- 
covered Jim Harvey, badly wounded and uncon- 
scious, lying near the gate. They had carried him 
into the yard, but not into the house. 

“What must we do with him, Chris?” asked 
Frank Jackson. 

“Bring him into the house and treat him as well 
as you can. He was not as much to blame as the 
one who told him to shoot.” 

The wounded were cared for and made as com- 
fortable as possible, awaiting the arrival of the 
doctor. 

The Bald-knobber, after his wound was washed 
and dressed, regained consciousness. As soon as 
he was told where he was and what had happened, 
he called for Chris to come to his bedside. 

“Chris, I’m done for,” he said weakly, “but be- 
fore I go I want to tell you that I did not intend 
to harm you or yours. Bud Jones was the cause 
of all this. He said you needed scaring to keep you 
from telling about that money business. He said 
we must use blank cartridges, and he put them in 
our guns himself. He tricked us to get us to shoot 
you. You escaped, but we’ve injured Bert and your 
daughter, and killed that poor, innocent child.” 

At the request of some of those present Jim made 
a statement of who composed the crowd and signed 
it. He continued to lament over what had hap- 
pened until he was soon in a raging fever. 

[334] 








-n 


/ 












) 


9 


THE RESCUE 




























































CHAPTER XXXI 


THE RESCUE 

U LA DEAN returned alone to the Ozark coun- 
try after three weeks at the old Virginia 
home. Grandfather Dean had passed away. 
Pier parents remained a few days longer to assist 
in arranging for the care of the estate, and Ula 
was only too glad to gain her father’s consent for 
her to return to the Western home — a home she 
had only to leave for a short time to find out how 
well she loved. She had promised her parents that 
she would persuade Mollie Ming to stay with her 
until they arrived, and, with good-bys to her Vir- 
ginia relatives, she left for home. 

Ula arrived in Springfield on a bright, sunshiny 
morning. All the world seemed glad, as, seated in 
the stage coach, she rode through the lanes between 
the ripening cornfields and across the sparkling 
James and Finley Creek, then through the pine for- 
ests to her home. 

It was nightfall when she reached the farm, and 
the moon had just risen over the hill above the 
spring. The quail was whistling his evening call 
to his mate down the valley, and the pines were 
whispering a song of home. Tom and May met 
her at the gate. Supper was waiting. She ate 

[337] 


31eatt Carroll 

heartily, and, learning that Martin Rogers was 
away for the night at the county seat, hurried to 
her room to rest. 

She closed the door and went to the window, and 
sat as she had that night before. The moon was 
climbing the eastern heavens, and, as she looked 
upon the moonlit forest, in her imagination, she 
could see the muscular form and the strong face of 
Jean Carroll by the roadside. She shuddered as 
she again went over that former vision, and, as she 
looked to assure herself it was not there again, she 
heard a volley of gun shots followed by the steady 
bang! bang! bang! of a rapidly fired gun. She 
closed the window and crept to bed, a nameless 
dread upon her. A few moments later she heard 
a number of horsemen ride rapidly down the road. 

With a sense of trouble around her, Ula was up 
early the next morning and, taking a pitcher, went 
to the spring for a drink of the sweet spring water. 
She longed to hear about Jean Carroll, but could 
find no excuse to ask May about him. 

The walk to the spring revived her spirits; the 
dread of the night was passing and a feeling of hope 
was crowding out the thoughts of impending 
trouble. The dew was glistening in the bright sun- 
shine, and the song birds were gathered in the haw- 
thorns as if it were springtime. 

Ula seated herself on the stone steps by the pool 
and watched the little fishes as they darted here 
and there, nibbling at everything that promised 
food. A small white object shot into the pool with 
the rushing water. At first it appeared like a bub- 

[338] 


3fean Carton 

ble, but when it reached stiller water the fishes, one 
after another, darted at it, then turned away disap- 
pointed. As she idly watched it, the object floated 
to the bank almost at her feet. 

“Why, it’s paper,” she said aloud, and, out of 
idle curiosity she dipped it out with the pitcher and 
unfolded it. It was half a leaf from a small Bible. 
She turned it over. There was writing across the 
page, dim but legible. She held it closer. There 
was a name at the bottom. She began to spell it 

out, “J-e-a Oh, it’s Jean Carroll!” Her head 

swam and her eyes blurred. Was it a message from 
the grave? She carefully smoothed the little sheet 
and read, as the paper dried rapidly in the sun: 
“Am in Dead Man’s cave on the Dean farm. Please 
help me out.” Then followed the name. What 
could it mean ? 

Suddenly the truth flashed upon her. The spring 
stream came through the cave and Jean was there. 
She dropped the pitcher, slipped the message into 
her bosom and hurried toward the house, crying to 
May as she came in sight : 

“May, where’s Tom?” 

“He’s gone over to Chris Ming’s. Something’s 
wrong over there. Why, Miss Ula, what’s the mat- 
ter? You’re all of a-tremble.” 

“I can’t tell you now, May. If Martin or Tom 
comes before I am back, tell them to come to the 
Dead Man’s cave. There’s a man in there starv- 
ing.” 

“Oh, Miss Ula! How do you know there’s a 
man starving in the cave ? Maybe it’s a robber.” 

[339] 


3[eatt Carroll 

Ula did not hear. She rushed into the barn, past 
May, who was standing in the doorway with a milk 
pail on her arm, and, taking up a lariat rope, ran 
down the path and over the hill toward the cave. 

May stood gasping in astonishment at Ula’s ac- 
tions', then overcome by the exciting events of the 
morning, sat down and began to cry. 

When Ula reached the great pit in the midst of the 
dense thicket, her heart failed her. She peered 
cautiously over the edge into the dark depths of the 
hole. She could see nothing. What must she do? 
Must she call? Yes. And in a tremulous voice she 
hallooed : “Oh, Mr. Carroll !” 

There was no answer. What if I am too late? 
she thought. He may be dying; perhaps is dead, 
and she powerless to help him. She almost wished 
to jump into the cave and die by his side. Her fear 
lent strength to her voice, and she called again: 
“Oh, Mr. Carroll !” There was no reply. Then 
louder : “Oh, Mr. Carroll !” And then, in despera- 
tion, she cried into the cave: “Oh, Jean! Don’t 
you hear me ?” There was a moment’s silence, then 
from the depths of the cave came the reply: “Yes; 
I’m coming.” 

The answer so startled the excited girl that she 
almost lost her balance. Then came the voice again, 
sounding strangely from the echoing walls : “Don’t 
leave me. I’m coming.” 

Again came the voice, now much plainer: “Are 
you still there ? Can you help me out ?” 

“Yes, Jean, I’m here. I won’t leave you. I have 
a long rope ; what must I do with it ?” 

134 °]!' 


31 e a n Catroll 

‘‘Tie one end to a tree md drop the other down 
here. Will it reach me?” 

The last part of the sentence was lost; the girl 
had regained her composure and was making one 
end fast to a white oak sapling on the cave’s brink. 

“Now, Jean,” Ula called down the pit, “this end 
is fast and I’m letting the other down to you, but 
I can’t see you. Can you see the rope?” 

“No, not yet ; but let it come on. Now I see it ; 
here it is. Now, if I can only climb it. Are you 
sure the rope is fast?” 

She felt him try the rope, then came the quiver- 
ing tension as he drew himself up hand-over-hand 
from the top of his stone ladder twenty feet below. 

Jean climbed rapidly at first, but the excitement 
over his chance of escape had sapped his strength. 
Halfway up the rope his muscles failed him. Oh, 
what if he should fall now, with escape so near! It 
meant certain death to fall back onto the pile of 
stones he had builded. He hung on the rope al- 
most discouraged, then he felt the old, wild feeling 
enter his heart and his head. He would not fail. 
He might hang on the rope and die, but he would 
not fall so long as life lasted. 

“Can I help you, Jean?” asked Ula, leaning peril- 
ously over the brink, her heart standing still as 
she thought of the climber’s danger. 

“No; I’m coming. I only stopped to rest,” and 
the climbing commenced again. Not so fast this 
time, but much steadier. Up he came, inch by inch, 
inch by inch. 

Ula, peering into the darkness, could see the bulk 

[341] 


3featt Carroll 

of the man, now the outline, now she could see he 
was bareheaded, now the naked, roughened arms 
with every muscle tense. He reached the top, and, 
blinded by the light, reached over the brink with his 
right hand to catch the rope beyond the rim. He 
could not find it. Ula saw his struggle, grasped 
a bush with her left hand and placed her small right 
hand in his great palm, and, with hands clasped, 
pulled with all her might. His left hand reached 
over and caught the rope, and then the broad shoul- 
ders slowly rose above the pit. Another instant and 
he was safe from the cave. 

He lay stretched upon the ground, his head on 
his arm, faint from the unaccustomed heat from the 
sun and the strain he had just passed through. 

Ula thought he had fainted, and forgetting all 
else dropped down beside the prostrate man and 
lifted his head in her arms, pushed back the tangled 
hair from his forehead, and gently passed her soft 
hand over his face. 

“Oh, Jean, you’re not going to die now that I’ve 
found you? Speak to me, Jean. Do speak to me,” 
pleaded the frightened girl, all the while bending 
over him and chafing his face and temples. 

Slowly Jean realized where he was. He felt 
Ula’s sweet breath fan his cheek, and he opened his 
eyes to meet the same soft blue eyes that had met 
his after the plunge through the fire, but the kiss 
did not follow. Ula, seeing that he was recover- 
ing, laid his head gently on the soft ground, and 
busied herself gathering up the rope from the pit. 

[342] 


3fean Carroll 

Recovered from the effects of his climb, and his 
eyes accustomed to the bright sunlight, Jean rose 
to his feet. He made a strange appearance. The 
rough work of carrying stones and climbing up the 
uneven incline for days and days, had worn to 
threads his clothing. His great muscular arms and 
chest were bare, and his shoes were almost torn 
from his feet. Except for the expression, which 
had resumed its kind tone, he looked the wild man 
that he had sometimes seemed. 

With a gentle hand of authority he took the rope 
from Ula, saying: “Miss Dean, how can I thank 
you for saving me? How did you find me, and 
how can I pay you for what you have done ?” 

“You have already paid me for what I’ve done. 
You saved the life of my little cousin at the fire, 
at the risk of your own life. Have you forgotten 
that?” 

“Yes; almost forgotten the fire, but not my re- 
ward for what I did.” 

Ula blushed and turned her head away, not be- 
cause of the kiss of long ago, but because of what 
she almost did just now. 

“This is how I found you,” and she took the 
crumpled paper from her bosom. Then the well- 
dressed girl, standing there in the forest, beside the 
man more ragged than any tramp, told the story of 
her vision in the night, of the hurried call to Vir- 
ginia, and her return to find the note in the spring. 

“How have you lived in the dreadful cave all this 
time?” she asked. 


[343] 


31 e a it CartoU 

“The story is too long to tell now, Miss Dean. 
I’ve lived as my savage ancestors did before me — 
from Nature’s storehouse.” 

At the thought of what trouble his enemies had 
caused, Jean’s face hardened, and, turning, he led 
the way out of the thicket and through the pine 
forest to the Dean gate, he leading the way and 
parting the undergrowth, she following, like some 
Indian maiden following her chieftain lover. 

At the gate Jean said : “Miss Dean, I need to go 
home. I thank you more than I can express for 
what you have done. If ever, at any time, I can 
help you, speak; I won’t forget. Good-by.” 

Ula knew his mood and respected it. She an- 
swered: “Good-by,” and watched the bare-headed, 
ragged form, as it stalked, like a shadow, off 
through the pines. With a lighter heart than she 
had known in weeks she went into the house. 


134431 


THE GHOST 























CHAPTER XXXII 


THE GHOST 

T HE day following the one on which the Deans 
started for Virginia, Martin Rogers returned 
from gathering up the scattered cattle. He 
took his horse to the barn and went directly to his 
room to rest. A few moments later May rapped 
at the door. 

“Come in, May. What is it ?” 

“I just wanted to tell you, Mr. Rogers, that Mrs. 
Dean told me to look after the house while she was 
gone, and so I thought I’d tell you that if you 
wanted anything done while she was away, such 
as ‘riddin’ up,’ you just tell me what it is.” 

“All right, May; thank you. I’ll do so.” 

“I’ve just been cleaning your room up a bit while 
you’ve been gone. It was in an awful clutter. I 
burned a whole ash-bucket full of scrap paper that 
I found on your desk and around. Say, if you’ll 
leave that cabinet unlocked I’ll clean up all that old 
grass and weeds in there. They’ve all lost their 
bloom.” 

“I don’t want them burned,” said Martin, as he 
thought of the damage she might have done to his 
collection, if he had carelessly left the door un- 

[347] 


3Iean Cattoll 

locked. “Those are specimens I have collected, and 
I do not wish to lose them. Please don’t bother 
about my room again unless I ask you.” 

“Oh, it’s no trouble, Mr. Martin; I just love to 
clean up and tidy up a room.” 

“Yes; but, May, I might have something here 
that you would think useless that I would want to 
keep.” 

“All right, Mr. Rogers, if you’d rather have it 
cluttered up. But I’ve got away with some of 
the scraps, anyway,” and May left the room, not 
knowing whether to be angry or not. 

Martin found upon investigation that several let- 
ters that he had expected to file away had been de- 
stroyed by his overzealous housekeeper. 

It seemed a long time to Martin before the Deans 
returned. He had heard nothing of Mollie and 
knew not what to think of her action. He had gone 
to call on Jean Carroll, but he was not at home, and 
the farm hands knew nothing of his whereabouts. 
He was bothered over the reports that were being 
freely circulated that Jean had run away for fear 
of being arrested for killing the stranger. 

Everything seemed to go wrong, and the time 
would have been almost unendurable, had it not 
been that the extra work that the absence of Mr. 
Dean imposed upon him, kept his mind employed. 
Two weeks had passed when he received word that 
Ula would be at home at the end of another week, 
but business called him to the county seat and he 
was not at home when she returned. 

[348] 


3Iean Carroll 

May had completed her cry and gone about her 
housework before Ula, accompanied by Jean, re- 
turned from the cave. She was standing in the 
kitchen door, drying dishes, when she looked up 
and saw them approaching. She took a second 
glance and then, with a scream, dropped the dish to 
the floor, and slammed the door shut. May was a 
firm believer in ghosts and saw in Jean, with his 
pale face and tattered clothing, the dead abroad. 

When Ula entered the house she found May in 
the bed, clothing and all, sobbing and moaning, and 
upon seeing Ula screamed: “Oh, Lord, Ula, don’t 
come close to me. I’m afraid of you; you’ve been 
walking with the dead.” 

“What do you mean, May ? What are you doing 
in that bed with your clothes on ?” 

“Ula, I’m afraid. Wasn’t you walking with Jean 
Carroll’s ghost? Oh, Lord, forgive me; I’ve tried 
to do right.” 

“Hush, May; that wasn’t Jean’s ghost, but Jean 
himself, as well as ever, and I’m so happy I can 
hardly talk. Has Martin returned yet?” 

“Honey, forgive me for a poor ignorant woman,” 
said May, as she crawled from the bed ; “but I’m so 
stirred up this morning. Yes, Martin came about 
an hour ago. I forgot to tell him what you said, 
and he went right over to Chris Ming’s as fast as 
he could run. Something awful has happened over 
there.” 

“What can it be, May? I’m going over there, 
too.” 

[349] 


3Ieatt Carroll 

“Not alone, Miss Ula, and leave me here? What 
will I do?” 

Ula did not answer, but hurried away. 

At the Ming home all was still confusion. The 
doctor had arrived and pronounced Mollie’s wound 
very dangerous. Bert Hawley would soon recover, 
but Jim Harvey could live but a few hours. 

A large number of the neighbors had gathered 
to offer their services and sympathy. The yard 
was full of people discussing the event when Mar- 
tin Rogers arrived. 

Martin hesitated to enter the room. He had been 
asked by Mollie not to try to see her, and although 
his heart was breaking at the news of her suffering, 
he did not wish to thrust himself into her presence. 

He waited with the others, and watched for Chris 
Ming that he might ask his permission to go to 
Mollie’s side. Every few minutes news of the 
suffering girl’s condition was brought to the 
waiting throng. The messages ran: “She seems 
better.” “She talked a little.” “She called for 
water.” Then they found she was growing worse. 
Her temperature was rising and all were in sus- 
pense. 

Bert Hawley was placed on a bed and carried to 
the wagon, and, with his weeping wife, and child, 
cold in death, they took their way to the cemetery 
on the green hillside, where the remains of their be- 
loved infant, their first-born, were to be laid to rest. 
Many of the neighbors followed the funeral proces- 
sion to the cemetery. 

When these were gone Martin could bear the 

[350] 


31 ean Catroll 


strain no longer, and went in search of Chris Ming 
to beg permission to go to Mollie’s side. 

At this moment Minnie McFadden came from the 
room almost crying. A neighbor asked how Mollie 
rested. 

“Not very well now, poor thing,” she answered 
as the tears began to flow. “She’s talking wild and 

calling for ” Then seeing Martin standing near 

she continued : “She’s calling for different ones.” 

Martin started forward, then stopped. Had he 
any right to go without permission. Was there 
some good reason why he should not see her? No 
one had invited him to go in. He turned away to- 
ward the gate. There he met Ula, out of breath 
from the run from her home. 

The sight of the gathered crowd frightened her 
until she could hardly speak. She ran up to Martin 
and gasped: “What is it, Martin? Tell me.” 

At last the tears came and the man broke down. 
“Oh, Ula, Mollie’s been shot and they fear she’s 
dying.” 

“Oh, Martin ! Dear Mollie ; let’s go to her. Why 
are you not there?” 

“You know why, Ula. I want to go; but she 
wrote me not to see her. What must I do?” 

“Why, Martin, she asked you to come back. She 
wrote a note and I laid it on your table the day I 
left.” 

“No, Ula, no. Was I to come? Tell me, Ula, 
quick!” 

“Yes, Martin; you were to come. Let’s go to her 
— you and I.” 


[351] 


3Ieatt Carroll 

Together they hurried into the room. All stood 
aside to let them pass. These men of the woods, 
though they did not know all, understood. There 
was a change in Martin Rogers, and they respected 
him for what he was doing. 

Mollie lay moaning and muttering, her face 
flushed with fever. She turned to the wall and mut- 
tered: “Why did I do it? Why did I? He hates 
me now and never will come back. Oh, Martin, 
don’t blame me; it wasn’t my fault.” 

Martin Rogers dropped on his knees by the rest- 
less girl’s bedside, and taking her feverish hand in 
his said softly: “No, I know you didn’t mean it, 
little sweetheart, so I’ve come. Do you hear? Mol- 
lie, I’ve come, and I’ll not leave you. Do you un- 
derstand?” 

She closed her eyes that a moment before had 
been staring wide without seeing. Martin con- 
tinued: “I’ve come, Mollie, love. Martin’s come. 
Do you hear? Ula and I have come.” 

Mollie raised her free hand to her head, then 
opened her eyes. “Am I dreaming, mother?” 

“No, darling, you are not dreaming. I’m here,” 
and Martin, rising, leaned over the bed. 

“Yes, Martin, you’ve come,” she weakly mur- 
mured; “I understand. You’re not mad now, are 
you?” 

“No ; and never was mad at you, darling.” 

“I’m tired now. I want to go to sleep,” the sick 
girl murmured; and holding Martin’s hand, while 
Ula stroked the fevered face, she fell into a quiet 
sleep, the first since the shooting. 

[352] 


31 e a n Carroll 

When she had released Martin’s hand in sleep he 
at once went to Chris Ming, saying: “Mr. Ming, 
there has been a great mistake; Mollie and I have 
not understood each other. I thought she did not 
want me to come, while she had written me a note 
which I had never received. I ask you to pardon 
my actions for the past month. I remained away 
from your home and Mollie because I thought I 
was not welcome.” 

“It is all right, Martin,” Chris replied. “I am 
the one that was to blame ; but I did what I thought 
was best. I’m glad you are here, and glad that 
my little girl loves so honorable a man, and that 
you love her. She’s worthy of it. She’s good; 
good as gold, and she loves you well. She never 
told me but once, but I could see it all the time. 
Here’s my hand as a friend, and you’re always wel- 
come to my house.” 

Martin took the hand, then went and listened to 
Ula, as she told him of her last visit to Mollie and 
the contents of the destroyed note. Then she told 
him and the neighbors about Jean’s escape from the 
cave. 

“Then he didn’t kill the stranger, as was told?” 
said one of the listeners. 

Ula turned on him with almost anger. “Have 
they told that Jean killed the stranger? I know he 
did not, for I saw him standing with his scythe in 
the lower meadow when the shot was fired. Bud 
Jones ” 

But at that instant Jean Carroll came stalking 
from the woods. Martin started to meet him, but 

[353] 


3[eait CattoU 

stopped when he saw his face. Over the pallor 
caused by the darkness of the cave was spread the 
mask of a savage. It was Jean Carroll’s body pos- 
sessed of a wild spirit. 


[354] 


THE LONG TRAIL 





* 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


THE LONG TRAIL 

G REAT was the surprise and joy of Ben and 
his wife when Jean arrived at the farm. 
They could scarcely believe their eyes when 
he walked up to the door with his tattered clothing, 
just as he had left the cave. They had believed he 
must be dead, to stay away so long without writing, 
and could hardly accept his coming as he did. Ben 
asked him a dozen questions without waiting for 
an answer to one. 

‘Til tell you all about it soon, Ben. I’m too glad 
to see you and the farm all right to talk more now. 
Get me some breakfast and some clean clothes, Liz- 
zie.” 

When Jean had eaten his breakfast and donned 
clean clothes he walked out to the barn to have a 
look at the horses. Ben followed, relating the hap- 
penings on the farm since his leaving it. “Jean, 
did you hear about the law-enforcement meeting 
before you left ? They nominated a full ticket, and 
it’s running like a scared wolf. Frank Jackson was 
nominated for sheriff. When he’s elected, he’ll put 
a stop to Bud Jones’ deviltry. You know about 
them shooting Bert Hawley and Mollie Ming.” 
“No, Ben, when was it?” 

[357] 


3lean Carroll 

“Why-, just last night. Bert and Mollie are both 
bad hurt, and Bert’s little baby was killed. Chris 
Ming fired on them as they left and hit Jim Har- 
vey Why, what’s the matter, Jean?” But 

Jean did not answer. He turned away from Ben 
and walked to the house where he buckled on his old 
hunting revolver. He then took down his big Win- 
chester and, with “Care for the farm, Ben, till I 
come,” passed out the gate and into the woods. 

He made his way straight for the Ming home, 
turning neither for forest, fence or stream. When 
he reached the gate he saw the crowds gathered 
about only as in a dream. He wondered why they 
all moved out of his way, and did not speak as 
usual ; but he did not care, he had but one object in 
view — to find and punish the man who had wounded 
his friends. 

He walked into the room where Mollie lay, 
flushed with a terrible fever. He stopped, and his 
expression softened as he looked at her burning 
face. Then he turned to the room where Jim Har- 
vey lay propped up upon a pillow. Jim paled as 
Jean entered the room. 

“Who did that, Jim?” Jean asked, as he pointed 
to where Mollie lay. There was no question in his 
voice — it was a command. Harvey had been told 
by his friends that Jean was dead, and his face 
showed relief when he found Jean was not a spirit. 
But when he looked again and saw the hard lines 
of the face, with the glistening eyes, he hastened to 
give the names of the men that were with him. 

For an awful instant Jean’s eyes burned into the 
[ 358 ] 


3[ e a it Cartoll 

very soul of the wounded man. They saw the truth 
there, and without another word he left the room 
and turned away toward the graveyard, where the 
funeral of the little murdered babe was in progress. 
When he arrived there the friends were taking a 
last look at the innocent dead. A long line of 
friends and neighbors were slowly passing by the 
little coffin. 

At the approach of Jean, armed as a soldier, the 
column stopped. There was a breathless silence as 
the savage-looking man moved up to the vacant side 
of the coffin. He looked long and sorrowfully into 
the pale little face, then muttered between his teeth : 
“Yes, Bert, I’ll bring him back. Little one, I’ll 
bring the coward back.” 

Without another word, or a glance at the many 
friends about him, he left the coffin and started 
away toward the east. All knew where he was 
going. Sam Miller and Frank Jackson hurried 
after him, and asked if they might not help him. 
He answered: “No, I go alone.” He crossed the 
cemetery and the forest claimed its own. The un- 
conquerable Watumska once more lived. 

Jean set his course to the east and kept to the 
woods. He instinctively knew where his man had 
gone. To a coward like Bud Jones no place would 
seem so safe as the great Irish Wilderness, and 
into this Jean followed him. 

He learned on the way that a bunch of men, then 
three, then two, then one man had passed, traveling 
toward the east, and he followed on unerringly and 
unswervingly. 


[359] 


3[ean Carroll 

On the second day out, he walked into the little 
village of Koshkonong, a station on the new rail- 
road. Here he ate for the first time. Bud had 
passed through there the day before, going directly 
east into the unbroken pine forest. Jean took up 
his trail as it followed a log road, then swerved 
into the grass of the forest, and traveled for miles 
and miles. The trail was heading for the almost 
impassable breaks of the Eleven Point River. Be- 
fore night a single camp spot was found. A rabbit 
had been dressed and cooked on a pine-knot fire. 
The rider had slept on a bed of grass close by his 
tethered horse. 

All the next day he followed the trail silent and 
alert, with rifle always ready, watching for the least 
sign of the fugitive. Early in the afternoon an- 
other camp fire was found. Jean was gaining on 
his man ; Bud Jones was less than a day ahead. 

The trail was nearing the centre of the big forest. 
There was game in abundance. Deer were seen 
frequently, watching him as he quietly made his 
way among the great pines, and there were turkeys 
seemingly everywhere. Jean had traveled from the 
railroad without food, and it was now necessary to 
kill some game. 

To kill a deer or turkey with the gun would have 
been an easy task, but he could not risk the report 
of his gun. Supper must be secured without noise, 
for Bud might stop now in any one of the near-by 
protected ravines. He must take some game, and, 
like his ancestors, must take it without gun or dog. 

He left the trail and started down a small ravine, 
[360] 


3[ean Carroll 

watching for what he might see. A covey of quail 
ran away into the underbrush. Here was his chance 
for supper, and with the patience of a savage he 
watched the birds go to roost under a bunch of 
grass, and with many a peep, peep, settle themselves 
for the night. A half hour later one could have 
seen, but not heard, a man creeping, creeping, on 
hands and knees, on and on, toward the covey of 
birds. One false step, one rustling leaf, or one 
broken twig, meant failure. No false step was 
made; no leaf was moved; no twig was broken. 
The hunter, except for his dress, seemed a savage in 
his native woods. And a savage he was; all the 
culture ,of his civilized ancestors was for the time 
forgotten. The savage nature ruled supreme, and 
with the savage nature had come the cunning of the 
savage. The birds were caught as they nestled in 
the grass, and by the brook, without cooking or salt, 
they were eaten. Not a reasonable meal, but suf- 
ficient to make up for the two days’ fast and pro- 
vide for two days to come. Watumska was having 
his day. 

An hour later, without fire or bedding, Jean was 
fast asleep in the shelter of a large log. 

The trail was again taken up at daybreak, and at 
two o’clock had struck Buck Creek and was follow- 
ing down its rocky bed. Two hours later, far ahead, 
grazing on the hillside, a lariated horse was seen. 
Jean crept up close and sat down in the shelter of 
a big rock. The race was finished. Bud Jones must 
answer for his crimes. 

At dusk Jean crept down to the grazing animal, 

[361] 


3[ean Carroll 

untied him, led him a ways along the back trail, 
and turned him loose, retaining only the halter 
strap. The horse struck up the trail toward home. 
Jean then returned to the place where the horse 
had been tied, well knowing that sooner or later 
the rider would come to look for his mount. 

All night he waited there, then crept farther away 
and began the wait for day. About ten o’clock Bud 
Jones came striding up the valley, gun in hand, 
looking for the lariated animal. He passed within 
fifty yards of his pursuer and stopped, trying to 
locate the hitching place. Jean could have sent a 
bullet through his brain, but that was not enough, 
his victim must know and suffer. 

Bud located the place where the horse had been, 
and cursed loudly when he found him gone. “Well,” 
he said, after his passion had cooled, “I don’t need 
him, anyway. I’ll just stay around here till our lit- 
tle skirmish blows over, then I’ll go back and re- 
organize our crowd and show some of them what 
I can do. I hope Jim Harvey is killed dead. It 
would be awkward having him give us all away,” 
and the Bald-knobber leader strode on down the 
valley. He did not know that a crouching man, 
like a panther, was following his every motion, 
dodging from tree to tree through the forest. 

Bud followed the stream about a mile, then 
turned up a leaping spring branch that ran in from 
the south of the creek. A few rods up the hillside 
this stream burst out from under a ledge of stone. 
To the left of the stream was a low opening under 
the ledge. Bud stooped down upon hands and 
,[362]; 


31ean Carroll 

knees and crept into the opening and disappeared 
from view. 

Jean watched the cave the remainder of the day. 
Once Bud came out. He gathered an armload of 
pine knots and took them back with him. For hours 
Jean watched the cave, then crept up to the ledge 
and passed into the opening. All was dark at first, 
but he was not to be stopped, and, with his re- 
volver in his hand, he crawled in inch by inch. He 
rounded a corner and a streak of light came into 
view, farther on there was a broad glare of light. 
There was a large cave before him, made perfectly 
light by the pine-knot fire in the centre. 

On the west side, opposite the entrance, on an 
elevated portion, lay Bud Jones sound asleep in his 
supposed security. 

Jean carefully examined the cave from his view- 
point, and as he witnessed its natural beauties, as 
reflected by the firelight, the lines of his face soft- 
ened. The opening was thirty or forty feet across, 
and about ten feet high. Beautiful stone forma- 
tions hung from the ceiling and walls, while near 
the farther side a great stone column had been 
formed by the dripping water, as symmetrical as 
if it had been cut by a sculptor’s chisel. Through 
the centre of the cave flowed the stream that formed 
the spring outside. Jean took in all these beauties 
of the cave at a glance. 

He stood erect, viewed the cave over until his 
eyes rested on the big, heavy face of Bud Jones. 
All the softness caused by the beauties of the cave 
left his face. He stepped to where Bud’s guns lay, 

[36 3] 


3fean Carroil 

picked them up and extracted the cartridges from 
them. He also slipped the cartridges from his own 
guns, and laid them all together. Then he walked 
over to the sleeper. 

For a moment he glared down upon the sleep- 
ing form, then slapped his face with his open hand. 
Bud roused with a start, and was on his feet in an 
instant, but a warning sign from Jean caused him 
to stop. Then Jean, in deadly tones, addressed him : 

“Bud Jones, I’m going to punish you. You must 
answer for your crimes. Are you ready?” 

“Jean Carroll, I thought you dead.” 

“I know you thought me dead, Bud Jones; but 
I have lived to punish you. Are you ready?” 

“Jean, I know I did you wrong, but you surely 
are not going to kill an unarmed man?” 

“I’m unarmed myself. Defend yourself, for 
I’m coming,” and he sprang at the bully’s throat. 
There was a terrible struggle as man grappled man, 
each fighting for his life. The struggle ended at 
last with Bud flat on his back and Jean tying the 
halter strap around his wrists. 

“Now, Bud Jones, I’m going to take you back to 
where you killed Bert Hawley’s innocent baby and 
murdered the stranger without cause.” 

“I didn’t kill them.” 

“Yes, you did. No more of that, or you may 
tempt me to burn your worthless body instead of 
killing you like a man. Now crawl out that hole.” 

Jean followed the bound man out of the cave, 
down the hill to the trail, and then began the home- 
ward trip, a journey long remembered by those who 

[364] 


3[eati Carroll 

saw them pass — a savage- faced Indian, heavily 
armed, leading a prisoner by a halter. 

Some began to ask what the prisoner had done, 
but a look at the captor stopped them, and the two 
men made the trip unmolested. Neither talked on 
the way, the captor only asking and paying for their 
meals, one-half of which he threw to Bud, as he 
would have thrown it to a captive dog. They did not 
stop for sleep, but tramped on and on, and, at the 
end of four days, arrived at the home of Chris 
Ming, 


[365] 







THE RETURN 





CHAPTER XXXIV 


THE RETURN 

T HE news of Jean’s coming had preceded him 
home, and friends from far and near gath- 
ered and followed them during the last part 
of the trip. They had traveled night and day with- 
out stopping. Bud was almost exhausted, and for 
miles Jean had driven him before him like an ani- 
mal, always with the strap fast about him. 

They arrived at the home of Chris Ming late in 
the afternoon, and beside those who were with 
Jean, many of the neighbors were there to see the 
captor and captive return. Ula Dean was there, as 
she had been most of the time since Jean left. 
Mollie was now fast improving. Ula, pale and hag- 
gard from many anxious days, saw the crowd com- 
ing long before it reached the gate, and felt what 
it meant. Jean’s mission was known over the 
whole countryside. 

The crowd came in a straggling mob, with Jean 
in front, driving Bud before him like a mule. Both 
men looked worn and weary, but Jean’s face had 
lost none of its wildness; the lips were pressed 
tightly together and the eyes still sparkled. Bud 
was overcome with fatigue, shame and fear, and 
appeared ready to drop to the ground. 

[369] 


3f e a tt Carroll 

When they reached the gate Jean pulled Bud up 
before him, and, there in the presence of the noise- 
less, breathless throng, said: “Bud Jones, for your 
crimes you are about to die. I am going to kill 
you — with my own hands I am going to strangle 
you. Here, where you cruelly murdered one inno- 
cent and wounded and tried to kill others, you shall 
die. Have you anything to say ?” 

Bud dropped to his knees and, with uplifted 
hands, begged that he might be tried; begged and 
entreated that he might be spared; confessed his 
crimes and begged again. 

“Enough, coward, stand up and die.” With one 
hand Jean jerked Bud to his feet and the other was 
reaching for his throat when Ula ran up and 
clasped Jean’s arm. 

“Oh, Jean, don’t do that,” she pleaded. “If 
you’re my friend, don't touch him.” 

Jean stopped as he stood, one hand on the captive, 
the other reaching for his throat, and for an instant, 
while everything grew stiller than the stillness of 
night, every one waited. They saw Jean’s face 
clear and the wild look leave his eyes. 

“Yes, Ula, I'll stop,” he said, turning away. 
“You’ve saved the cur’s life for a while. Take him, 
boys, and do what you will with him,” and pale 
and haggard he started to leave, but Ula clung to 
his trembling hand and led him down toward the 
spring. 

“Won’t you go home and rest, Jean? Mollie is 
much better now, and Bert is up, and all the other 
men have surrendered.” 

[370] 


3[ e a n Carroll 

“Yes, I’ll go home. I’m so tired — so tired.” He 
paused a moment then said: “Miss Dean, I thank 
you for saving me from that deed.” He started 
away, but stopped. “May I come over to-morrow 
night?” he stammeringly said. He seemed surprised 
when Ula answered : “Yes, Jean, be sure and come.” 

Turning, he left for home, walking stooped and 
slow, like an old man, while the bystanders knew 
they had witnessed the old story of a strong man 
controlled by a woman’s love. 

Bud Jones was taken, heavily guarded, to jail to 
await trial, with his comrades, on a charge of cold- 
blooded murder. 

Jean reached home in a stupor and, without un- 
dressing, fell across his bed and slept the night out 
and far into the afternoon of the next day. Then 
he arose, bathed and changed his clothes, and left 
for the Dean home. 

When Jean arrived at Ula’s home, the day was 
just putting on the shades of night. The sun had 
disappeared over the tops of the western hills, but 
its rays still gilded the tips of the loftiest pines. 

Ula, clad in a light, loose-fitting costume, that 
displayed to the fullest her beautiful suppliant 
form, was waiting for him on the porch. She 
seemed happier and more cheerful than usual, in 
contradistinction to Jean’s more sombre mood. Her 
appearance fitted into the blend of the beautiful 
things of Nature around her. The whole scene 
seemed to Jean a symbol of peace and contentment. 

After a few commonplace remarks, Jean began: 
“Miss Dean, I am not worthy of the privilege of 

[371] 


3f e a n Cattoll 

calling on you. Yesterday I was almost a mur- 
derer. I was a murderer at heart. I have been 
weak and failed in my resolves. I have allowed 
reason to sleep and passion to control. I shouldn’t 
have come to see you. I am not fit to be with, or 
to live with, refined people. My wild blood has con- 
trolled me at every crisis of my life, and I fear will 
always control me, and for that reason I am going 
away. I came to you because you have always been 
so kind to me, and I could not leave without bidding 
you good-by. I am going to leave to-morrow, so I 
tell you good-by. I must not stay where I can only 
injure those who befriend me.” 

“Oh, Jean, what do you mean? You’re not going 
to leave the farm, your grandfather’s old farm?” 

“Yes, Miss Dean, I must leave the farm. I’ll 
start to-morrow for the West, and there live alone, 
where my acts will not shame those I love.” 

“Oh, Jean, don’t say that. What will I do if you 
leave ; you’re my best friend.” 

“Ula, don’t talk that way. I’m going, Ula 

Oh, I didn’t mean to say it, but I must now. I’m 
going, Ula, because I love you. Love you so well 
that I cannot bear to see you and know you do not 
love me. Ula, I love you : have loved you since 
that day long ago at the fire when you kissed me. 
I loved you that day, and will always love you. I 
wanted to go away without hurting you with this : 
now I must go before I say more. Good-by, little 
friend.” 

“Oh, Jean, why need you go? Jean, come back; 

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31 e a n Carroll 

don’t you understand? I have remembered the fire 
all the time, and I Jean, I don’t want you to 

go-” 

Jean stopped and turned back. Were his eyes 
deceiving him? Could it be so? “Ula, is it so?” 
he asked, but there was no need of an answer. He 
clasped her in his great, strong arms and pressed 
the golden crowned head to his bosom. 

An hour later they stood by the gate, near where 
the Bald-knobber had struck Jean down. Ula was 
saying: “And you didn’t know, you great, strong 
man, how I loved you? Didn’t I just push myself 
into your canoe? Why, I’ve had to throw myself 
at your head to get you to notice me. I almost be- 
lieve that I became lost that day that you might find 

_ 11 

me. 

“I don’t care what you have done, little sweet- 
heart, just so you love me. All that bothers me, is 
the fear that I can never be worthy of your love. 
Don’t you hate me when I get one of my wild spells 
on me? I know I hate myself afterward for my 
weakness.” 

“No, I don’t hate you, my big Indian,” and she 
tiptoed and placed her arms around his neck. 
“That’s when I love you best ; you look so fierce and 
strong. I love to think of you doing anything, do- 
ing everything. A man, my man, strong enough to 
rule everything — even me!” 

“Don’t talk that way, darling. You’ll make me 
want to go wild, so you will love me more.” 

“Oh, Jean, how happy I am now that you love 

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31 e a n Carroll 

me, and all the dreadful killing and trouble are over, 
for, with Bud Jones in prison and good men nomi- 
nated for office, our people will live in peace.” 

Jean stood for a long time looking out over the 
pines as they gently swayed in the silvery moon- 
light, then, in a voice that sounded like a prayer of 
thankfulness, he said : “Oh, my little sweetheart, 
how good it is to be alive. A week ago I was buried 
in a living grave. Three days ago life held only the 
swift passing pleasure of revenge. To-day I have 
more than all the world besides. It seems too good 
to be true, that I live to know you love me, and to 
know that our beautiful land is at last to be at 
peace with itself and the rest of the world.” 


[374] 


THE STRANGER’S NAME 
















CHAPTER XXXV 

THE STRANGER’S NAME 

T HE election was over, and returns coming in 
showed the election of the “Law and Order” 
candidates by large majorities. The old of- 
ficials, seeing their defeat assured, had quit the fight 
before the contest closed. Bud Jones’ capture dis- 
couraged his Bald-knob followers, and they has- 
tened to join with the inevitable winners. All these 
causes made the election almost unanimous. 

Jean had attended the election in company with 
Martin Rogers, returning by the way of the Dean 
farm. After a short talk with Ula, Jean went on 
to his home. When he reached the farmhouse, he 
found a smooth-faced, gray-haired stranger await- 
ing him. 

“Is this Mr. Jean Carroll?” he asked, upon Jean’s 
arrival. 

“Yes, sir, that is my name.” 

“My name is Gordon. I am looking for a friend 
who came to this county in the early summer. I 
received a letter from him in August, but since that 
time have lost all trace of him. He told me in his 
letter he was stopping with you.” 

“Mr. Gordon, are you related to the stranger 
that was here?” 


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31 e an Carroll 

“Only in a business way, and as a friend.” 

“I have bad news to tell you of your friend. One 
evening in August, after your friend, 'the stranger/ 
as we all knew him, had made all preparations to 
take his departure for the East that night, an assas- 
sin fired on him from that bit of shrubbery out there 
and he fell. He never spoke again. His body lies 
in the churchyard on the hill. His murderer has 
confessed the crime, and is now in prison awaiting 
trial for this and other crimes. His life will doubt- 
less pay the penalty.” 

The old man was deeply moved at the recital and 
asked many questions concerning the murder and 
the causes that led up to it. 

Jean told him all about the stranger's visit, his 
actions and ways, and also that the dead man’s va- 
lise and its contents were held by the county of- 
ficials at the county seat. 

Mr. Gordon, at Jean’s invitation, spent the night 
with him, and, as he was much fatigued by his jour- 
ney, retired early, Jean having promised to accom- 
pany him to the county seat the following morning. 
Jean remained up to hear the returns from the 
election. 

Late in the night there was a call. Jean an- 
swered it. 

“Is that you, Jean?” called Frank Jackson. 

“Yes, Frank. Come in.” 

“It’s getting too late; I must be getting home. 
I’m elected, old boy, by a large majority, and so are 
all the boys.” 

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3!eait Carroll 

“Good for you all, Frank. This is the greatest 
day the Bald-knob country ever had. If it could 
only have come before all these murders were com- 
mitted.” 

“They had to come, Jean, to awake our people 
to what was going on. I am thankful it is over.” 

“Yes, Frank; we should all be thankful that our 
land is once more free.” 

The next morning Mr. Gordon, accompanied by 
Jean, visited the stranger’s grave, and drove from 
there to the county seat, where Mr. Gordon went to 
see Bud Jones in his cell. 

Bud was a changed man. All his old bravado 
was gone. He was grasping at every straw of hope 
that pointed toward escape from the gallows. When 
the gray-haired man told Bud who he was the pris- 
oner began to plead : “Mr. Gordon, I don’t want to 
be hung. I will tell you all, and I pray you to in- 
tercede with the judge for my life.” 

The man did not reply, and Bud told the story 
of his crimes. “It was a mistake, Mr. Gordon,” he 
concluded; “a great mistake. I thought it was 
Jean Carroll.” 

“Then you intended to murder, did you?” 

“Yes; but not your friend.” 

“All honest men are my friends,” and Mr. Gor- 
don turned away. 

Jean went with him to the officials, and he soon 
convinced them he was what he claimed to be, a 
friend of the murdered stranger, and the valise with 
its contents was given to him. He at once ex- 

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3fean Carroll 

amined the contents, but there was nothing found 
that gave any light as to what the stranger had 
done. 

“When they left the court house Mr. Gordon 
said: “Mr. Carroll, walk with me to the hotel; I 
wish to talk to you awhile.” 

When the hotel was reached he said: “Mr. Car- 
roll, I find everywhere evidence of your fidelity and 
kindness to my lamented friend. Now I wish you 
to allow me to pay you for your trouble and ex- 
pense.” 

“Mr. Gordon, you misunderstand what I have 
done. What I did, I did as a friend. You forget 
that he was killed in my stead. To accept pay for 
my kindness would be selling my friendship.” 

“I appreciate your position, but here is a small 
sum of money that he left behind. He has no 
known relative to whom this can go; will you ac- 
cept it?” 

“If, like myself, he has no relatives, would it not 
be well to use this money to erect a stone at his 
grave? I had intended to erect a simple stone, but, 
if you wish, this money could be used in this way.” 

“That is certainly a good plan, and as I will 
leave to-night on my way to the East I will ask you 
to see that a suitable stone is erected; to do this 
much more for our mutual friend.” 

“I will gladly do it, Mr. Gordon. Have you any 
preference as to what inscription shall be placed 
on the stone?” 

“I will leave that to you. Here is the name and 
you may finish the inscription.” Mr. Gordon 
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3[ean Carroll 

handed to Jean a neat card on which were the 
words: “George Grevoise, Mineralogist.” 

“George Grevoise ! Do you know that was the 
name of my only living relative? He was last 
heard of in Philadelphia when a boy many years 
ago. He lived in Virginia before that time.” 

“Our friend lived in Virginia before coming to 
Philadelphia, where he worked his w r ay through 
school.” 

For several minutes Jean was silent, as though 
he could scarcely believe that his departed friend 
was indeed his long-lost relative. When he spoke 
his attitude was as one addressing an unseen per- 
son: “The stranger, my friend, my cousin; but the 
ties that bound me to you could not have been 
stronger had I known our relationship, for there is 
no closer tie between men than friendship.” 

“Mr. Carroll,” Mr. Gordon addressed Jean, “since 
the stranger we both loved has proven to be a rela- 
tive as well as a friend of yours, I feel that I ought 
to tell you why he was here as he was. George 
Grevoise was a fine mineralogist, and was sent here 
to find a vein of mineral that he believed existed. 
His instructions were to keep his mission secret. 
In his only letter from here he wrote : T have found 
it. The deposit is greater than I expected. Will 
start home at once.’ The location of this deposit 
was his secret ; it died with him. It may be of use 
to you. It has cost us too dearly in his death to 
tempt us to try to find it again.” 

Jean did not reply. He did not tell him that they 
were together when the vein was found. He pre- 

[381] 


lean Carroll 

ferred the unbroken forest to all the wealth the 
mines could bring. 

That evening Mr. Gordon took the stage for 
Springfield and home to relate to his companions the 
story of their dead friend and the lost vein in the 
Ozarks. 

At once Jean had erected a simple marble shaft 
at the stranger’s grave. The inscription read : 

THE STRANGER, 

GEORGE GREVOISE. 

By his death his friend lives. 


[382] 


IN THE PINES 























CHAPTER XXXVI 


IN THE PINES 

T OWARD the middle of November, when the 
gold was coming into the leaves and the wild 
grape hung ripe and luscious on the vines, 
there was a double wedding at the Dean home in 
the Ozarks. All the countryside was invited to the 
wedding supper, and when Jean Carroll and Ula 
Dean, with Martin Rogers and Mollie Ming, stood 
before the aged minister, the big farmhouse was 
crowded to overflowing. 

The supper continued until the wee small hours 
of the morning, the guests being served in the good 
old-fashioned way; the older members of the party 
at the first table and on down until all had eaten. 
Guests had come from far and near. There were 
friends and relatives from the old Virginia home, 
political friends of Jean’s from the county seat, and 
college friends of Martin Rogers’ from different 
places. It was almost day when the guests who 
were leaving the farm departed. 

Early in the day after the ceremony Mr. and 
Mrs. Martin Rogers departed for a month’s visit 
in the East. Jean had asked Ula if she wished to 
go with them. She replied: “No; I feel as if I 
never wanted to leave these lovely hills again. I 
would like better to go out alone with you, where 

[ 385 ] 


3featt Cattoll 

we could live together the life we both love so well. 
I don’t want to see the crowded cities. I would 
much prefer to stay here, if it suits you, Jean.” 

“What suits you, suits me,” Jean replied, and 
would say no more about a wedding trip. 

When Ula and Jean had bidden the others good- 
by, as they drove away to take the train at Spring- 
field, Jean said: “Ula, come with me to the barn- 
yard.” 

At the gate stood Red Buck and Ula’s sorrel 
pony, bridled and saddled ready for a journey, 
while beside them stood two pack horses fully 
equipped with tents, cooking utensils, blankets and 
provisions. 

“Oh, Jean, what does it mean?” Ula exclaimed. 

“It means, sweetheart, that we are going to spend 
our honeymoon just as you wished; you and I, 
away off alone with Nature.” 

Ula threw her arms around Jean’s neck and 
kissed him. “You are so kind,” she cried. “Can 
we start to-day?” 

“We are to start at once. Go and tell Papa and 
Mamma Dean good-by.” 

Ula turned to find her parents had followed them. 

“Oh, do you know where we are going?” 

“Yes, daughter,” replied Mr. Dean. “Jean told 
us of his plans and we fully approve. Nothing will 
bring the roses back to your cheeks so soon as a 
month in the woods. I want you to spend a month 
together in the woods, like children at play, and 
when you come back to your future home you will 
be hearty and happy, while those who take a tire- 
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3[ e a n Carroll 

some journey will feel worn out and fretful. More 
divorces originate from long wedding journeys than 
from any other one cause.” 

Jean and Ula mounted their horses and rode 
away down the hill and across the river and into 
the heart of the wonderful Irish Wilderness, the 
pack horses following carefully behind. 

Before sundown they found a beautiful spot be- 
side a sparkling spring, the whole earth carpeted 
with myriads of needles from the majestic pines 
that covered the hills for miles around. 

“Oh, Jean, such a lovely place, why not stop 
here ?” 

“Here is where I selected as the spot for us to 
begin life together. Will it suit you, little sweet- 
heart?” 

“Oh, so well. It is so grand and beautiful and 
good. It seems that I have seen this place before.” 

“Stand over here. Now close your eyes.” Jean 
walked a few steps away. “Now you may look.” 

For a moment she did not yet recognize the place, 
then she rushed to him, saying: “Oh, Jean, you 
great boy ; you are so good to bring me to the spot 
where I first knew I loved you.” 

“And to the spot where I first knew it was you I 
loved. But we must not spend all our time recount- 
ing the past, the present is with us and the future 
before us.” 

Jean quickly unpacked and unsaddled the horses 
and tethered them out to graze, unrolled and 
stretched the tent on a grassy knoll and made a fire 
to warm the toast. Ula, under his direction, had 

1387] 


31 e a n Carroll 

gathered boughs for the tent floor, and soon all 
was snug for the night. They pulled their camp 
chairs up before the blazing pine-knot fire and their 
day’s work was done. 

A month later the camp was struck as suddenly 
as it was pitched. 

“Ula,” said Jean, “we must go home now, our 
holiday is over.” 

“Oh, Jean, it is too bad to leave this lovely place. 
I sometimes wish we might always live here.” 

“Don’t talk that way, Ula; you don’t know how 
you tempt me. You forget that a part of me be- 
longs to this life, and it is hard enough for me to 
leave it. But I will leave it and try to forget my 
Indian nature if you will tell me one thing.” 

“I don’t want you to forget your Indian nature, 
for it is what makes you different from other men, 
so strong, so true, so constant. Now what is that 
‘one thing’ you want me to tell you, my Indian chief- 
tain?” 

“Tell me, Ula, have you enjoyed your stay in the 
pines ?” 

For an answer she placed her soft, white arms 
around his strong neck, and pulling his curly head 
down to her, whispered : 

“Listen to the pines, my love. They are singing 
to me a song of love, peace, joy, and contentment. 
What are they saying to you?” 

Gathering her up in his great, strong arms, he 
said: “They sing to me of purity, peace and love 
forevermore !” 

THE END 

[388] 


LB O "13 








